


The Hidden Prince

by KrypticHaze



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arthur Dayne Lives, Betrayal, Drama, F/M, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, King Jon Snow, Politics, R Plus L Equals J, Romance, Young Griff is a Blackfyre
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-01-26 11:33:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 24
Words: 123,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21373462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrypticHaze/pseuds/KrypticHaze
Summary: A scream come just in time and a conversation gone different cause the story to be forever changed. Ned Stark is saved from imprisonment and the game gets a new player, one that would've been lost otherwise. Amidst plots and counter-plots, romance and betrayal, Jon Targaryen fights to reclaim his family's throne. Great enemies are made small, and small enemies great, for in the Game of Thrones only one thing is certain; you win or you die.
Relationships: Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Jon Snow/Margaery Tyrell, Robb Stark/Jeyne Westerling
Comments: 908
Kudos: 1419





	1. Ned I

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, this is an AU in which Ned Stark escapes his imprisonment and goes north to tell Jon the truth. I plan to post every week, so long as I can keep ahead on chapters. The story begins in the middle of Ned's imprisonment, when Varys pays him a visit. I hope you enjoy :)

_"Promise me Ned . . ."_ Lyanna's voice haunted Ned as he drifted in and out of sleep, reminding him of promises made long ago. _"His name is Aegon Targaryen . . . and you stole that from him . . ."_ Ned's eyes flew open in an instant, breaths coming out rough and shallow as his heart beat a frantic pace against his chest. Expecting to see his sister standing before him with a stern expression upon her face; Ned started to settle down upon seeing the darkness that had become his only companion. 

"I protected him just as I promised, Lyanna. That name would have brought naught but pain down upon Jon," Ned said, half convincing himself of the truth of the words. _Is that still the case though?_ He shook the thought off as soon as it came. There was no point to ponder such things while he was trapped living in his own filth. 

Ned stood up slowly, stretching his aching muscles. It was getting harder to get up and move around the longer he was down here. Ned could still feel a sharp pain in his leg where the bone had broken through during the Kingslayer's ambush. _Damn Jaime Lannister,_ Ned thought ruefully as he made his way to the opposite corner. This was what Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King was reduced to; pissing in a corner without even a proper chamber pot. Having faith in the honor of a Lannister had brought him to this, a shame the cost of such a lesson would likely be his life. Pulling up his trousers, he crossed back to the other corner, cursing as he lowered himself to a sitting position. 

Ned sat for awhile in total silence before a _clink clink clink_ from in the hall roused him. The door swung open with a burst of light, blinding Ned completely for several moments. He could just make out a gaoler moving towards him with a torch in one hand, a wineskin offered from the other. After no move was made to reach for the skin, the gaoler pulled off his spiked steel cap. Underneath the mummers scars and false brown stubble, Ned could tell that the gaoler was none other than Varys, master of whisperers.

"Lord Stark," Varys said, holding out the wineskin once more.

"Varys," Ned said, still not so much as moving toward the wineskin. For all he knew it was filled with some poison that would land him in a grave beside Jon Arryn. _That would be the way to do it,_ he mused. _A quiet death far away from where the truth could hurt the Lannisters . . . and who better than the Spider himself to deliver it. The man who stood idly by as a massacre occurred all around him._

Varys sighed, uncorking the wineskin and taking a quick swig before passing it to Ned. "No one trusts the eunich," he stated as Ned began taking large gulps. "You might want to save some of that for later, my lord. The guards often forget that they're meant to bring water every other day."

Ned recorked the bottle and set it to the side, fixing Varys with a glare as the eunuch crouched with a smug look on his face. "_You stood there_. While my men were slaughtered in that damn throne room, you just stood there," Ned said, eyes never wavering as he stared down the man before him.

"Yes, Lord Stark, and I would do it again given the circumstances. I had no weapon, no armor, do you take me for a hero?" Varys said, all hints of smugness gone from his face and in its place a look of steel, cutting through all argument.

Ned realized that the words were true but that did not help the feeling of betrayal. Those feelings weren't directed at the Spider though. He didn't betray him, all Varys did was not hopelessly throw away his life. Dropping his gaze, Ned took a short pull from his wineskin before asking, "What of my daughters?"

"The little one has disappeared, not even my little birds have been able to find her."

"And what of Sansa?"

"The betrothal is unbroken, my lord. It seems she has accepted that you are a traitor to the crown and is still quite smitten with our young king. Although, I have heard tale that she intends to seek mercy for you before the court quite soon so perhaps everything is not so bleak." 

Anger washed over Ned like a flood. "My daughter is of the north," he gritted out. "She shouldn't have to bow and scrape before that bastard and his treacherous mother."

"You should choose your words more carefully, Lord Stark. It would be a shame for poor Sansa to beg for mercy just to have it all thrown away because of a few reckless words. Is your pride really worth dying for?"

Varys stood to leave, putting back on his cap and turning away from Ned. A hundred different thoughts ran through his head while Varys made his way towards the door. _Is my pride worth dying for?_ Certainly not when he had one daughter missing and another stuck in the Lannisters' clutches. Then Lyanna's words entered the forefront of his mind. _"His name is Aegon Targaryen . . . and you stole that from him."_ Could it be done? Would Jon even want that bloody chair after all it had cost him?

A foreign thought came to him. _The best rulers are ones who don't seek power but take it because it is their duty_. With that, his resolve grew as he looked up to see Varys almost to the door.

"Varys, who do you truly serve?"

He turned back and stared at Ned. "The realm, my lord, someone's got to."

With that the resolve he felt hardened to Valyrian steel, ready to finally speak the secret that he had kept to himself for so long. "But what does serving the realm truly entail, Lord Varys? Watching as unfit kings do as they please, hoping that one day everything will just change and we can have peace. Joffrey's reign will not be remembered as one of peace. Neither Renly nor Stannis will sit idly by and let him rule."

Varys pondered the words, shifting on his feet before carefully replying. "You speak truly my lord but neither have the support needed to take on Tywin Lannister, even if the North sided with them and you know this."

"Aye, you are right but what if there was another. One with the blood necessary to forge the alliances needed, raised to be an honorable man with the compassion to rule fairly. A man that is worth fighting for."

Varys raised an eyebrow looking at him with genuine confusion. "A pleasant dream for sure, my lord, but there is no such man in existence. Not one of the blood that he would need to make a claim to the Iron Throne."

Ned felt a large smirk spread across his face as he took another swig from the wineskin. He would need to start from the beginning. "Lord Varys, you may want to settle in because this story begins on the day the smiles died."

And so he started from the beginning, telling Varys everything that had occurred to lead them here. From the truth behind the so-called kidnapping of Lyanna Stark, to the fight with Ser Arthur Dayne, and the rough birth of a trueborn Targaryen prince that lead to his sister's death. A promise he'd kept for nearly two decades, protecting his son. After all this time raising Jon as his son, Ned could not bring himself to think of him as his nephew.

Finishing the story, Ned looked up to see several different emotions playing out across Varys' face. "I did what I had to do to keep my word to my sister. I never intended to tell anyone of Jon's true identity. But seeing the cruel boy-king having his strings pulled by the likes of Cersei Lannister, I now realize that I made a mistake. The realm will never be safe under his rule and I do not trust that he would honor any mercy granted, if he granted mercy at all. Jon is a true son of the North, honorable and good. I believed it when you said that you serve the realm. Believe me when I say Jon is the best the realm has got."

Ned couldn't help feeling a twinge of pleasure at seeing the completely shocked expression on Varys' face. If the Spider himself was not able to root out this secret than he was fairly certain that no one else would have figured it out.

After several minutes of heavy silence Varys finally speaks. "I presume you have other proof? It would take more than just your word to convince the other high lords of this truth."

"Aye, I found Lyanna's diary in the tower and I read through it trying to make sense of what happened. It details how happy she was on the day they wed as well as the joy she felt at learning of the babe growing within her. Also, although I can not confirm it, Ser Arthur told me that the High Septon made record of the annulment of Elia and Rhaegar as well as the wedding that followed. I never tried searching for it but the Citadel may still have a copy of the High Septon's journal."

Varys started pacing as he muttered nonsensical words that Ned couldn't make out. He was content to let Varys think it over for as long as he needed. This truth not only changed the so-called Game, it flipped it on its head.

Finally stilling, Varys looked at him with amusement for the first time since Ned had started revealing the many secrets of Robert's Rebellion. "The great and honorable Lord Eddard Stark's one stain on his honor turns out to be his greatest act of honor to date. You never cease to amaze me, my lord. What is it that you hope for me to do with this information? Your nephew is at the Wall, if he has already taken his vows then he will be lost to the realm forever."

Ned sighed, leaning back heavily against the damp cobblestones. "Honestly, Lord Varys, I never expected to speak these truths to another. Perhaps it just felt right to speak the truth for once before I die. Ser Arthur tried to convince me that I should tell Jon when he came of age and let him decide what man he would be, but I was too foolish to listen. I suppose what happens next is up to you."

Varys returned to his pacing, although this time he was dead silent. The torch flickering in Varys' hand and the sound of his leather boots hitting the stone floor unsettled Ned. Careful of his still aching muscles, Ned worked his way up from where he sat to stand before the man walking back and forth at an unnerving pace.

"What of it, Spider?"

Varys stopped in his tracks not turning to Ned as he spoke. "We will need to find a way to stop Jon from taking the vows until you can get there."

Ned felt his jaw drop yet he was powerless to stop it. Could he really dare to hope that he could make it out of King's Landing? "You can't possibly mean . . ."

Varys cut him off before he could finish. "As dangerous as it might be, Jon will need to hear the truth from you. He has spent his whole life as a bastard. He will need you to make him see the severity of the situation and why he needs to claim the throne. Also, the Northern lords' last impressions by a Targaryen ruler did not leave a pleasant taste in their mouths. You will need to be there to assauge fears and make them see who he is, not just his House name."

Ned, jaw still hanging open, quickly shook himself and set aside the prospect of escape to focus on how he could stop Jon from taking his vows. There was one man at the wall who knew the truth and would help them; Ser Arthur, living in Winter Town for all these years as a builder had went to the Wall with Jon. _One day, you'll regret not telling him._

"There is one person at the wall who knows, Lord Varys."

"Do you mean?"

Nodding, Ned continued, "I made Arthur vow not to tell a living soul at the Tower of Joy. He decided to head north and has been living in Winter Town as Daeron Snow ever since. When Jon made his decision to go to the wall, Arthur naturally went with him. If you can get him a raven he will do whatever is necessary to stop Jon."

"Ser Arthur was always a very dutiful man. Although, I am surprised he would stay so close. Hopefully, we are not too late. I will also begin the preparations for your journey north. It will take time, but luckily the Lannisters don't intend for you to face the King's Justice for at least another moon turn. Now, I must be going, my lord. I have been gone far too long already."

With those parting words still rattling around in his head, Ned watched as Varys turned to leave and made his way towards the door. Suddenly, a thought came to him and he found himself calling out, "Wait! What of my daughters? I can't leave them here."

Varys not looking back or stopping his exit said, "We will see, my lord. Rest well."

Now immersed in total darkness once more, Ned lowered himself to sit on the hard stone floor and leaned up against the wall. Emotions began flooding rapidly through him. He felt hope for the first time since his arrest, yet there was also a pain that went straight to his core. He would have to tell everyone the truth. Jon was never his bastard and soon the whole realm would know it. And Jon, he was about to have so much thrust upon him. All he ever wanted was to be a Stark and now he never could be.

With that parting thought, Ned fell into a restless sleep, dreaming of his smiling sister finally happy that the truth would be revealed. _"His name is Aegon Targaryen, and you will return that to him."_


	2. Varys I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varys' reaction to the news, plus everything that follows ;)

Arriving outside the chamber assigned to his disguise, Varys set the torch in its sconce opposite the door and entered. The interior was small, not even able to hold a proper bed, in its place a pile of hay ripe with the smell of body fluid. The rest of the room was taken up by an overflowing chamber pot, a wooden chair, and a small fireplace built into the far wall. Sighing, Varys stoked the embers back to life and sat down to think.

_"I swore to Serra on her deathbed, that I would sit our son on the Iron Throne and that is what I shall do," Illyrio Mopatis said, turning away to look out at the sea before them. _

_Varys slowly shook his head. "The boy is but a babe, with no allies, and not even able to hold a sword, it's just not possible."_

_A moment of silence passed before Illyrio turned back with a wide grin that gave a grand view of his crooked, yellow teeth. "Oh but that is where you're wrong, my friend. I have sent Daemon to a man known as Jon Connington and he will help-"_

_"Lord Connington was obsessed with Prince Rhaegar, he would never help a Blackfyre sit the throne. You're not thinking clearly. I know her death was hard on you, my friend, but this will inevitably lead to your son's death and she wouldn't want that."_

_Illyrio's grin disappeared in an instant. He moved across the balcony and grabbed Varys by the collar of his robe with both hands and pushed him up against the railing. Illyrio's nostrils flared and his chins quivered as he held Varys firmly in place. "How dare you!" was all Illyrio said for what seemed like hours. _

_Finally releasing his robe, Illyrio turned away and left the balcony without a word. Alone now, Varys took a few deep breath's and followed after him._

_Varys found his friend sitting in the dining hall feasting on a whole roast pig and downing wine as if he were dying of thirst. When Illyrio noticed Varys standing in the doorway, he raised his cup in a mocking toast._

_"Ah, if it isn't my friend**. **Sit down, sit down, I anxiously await your next round of insults." _

_Varys cautiously made his way to the chair opposite Illyrio. Once he was seated, Illyrio downed the rest of the cup in one go and threw it against the wall. Not so long ago the man before him had been a powerful warrior, strong and charismatic. Now his only interest seemed to be engorging himself, and filling his coffers with half-cocked plans. Seeing that Illyrio had no intention to speak further, Varys decided to attempt breaking the barrier that seemed to have grown between them._

_"I meant no disrespect to you or Serra, old friend, I am just worried that you are acting from grief and not thinking these things through."_

_Rising from the table, Illyrio had a cold look upon his face as he stared down at Varys. "For a man who prides himself on knowing everything, you really know nothing, Spider. Do you honestly think I would do something that would put my son in mortal danger?"_

_Varys' eyebrow rose but he said nothing, prompting Illyrio to continue._

_"Jon Connington has turned into a drunken buffoon, lost without his dragon prince. It only took one raven to convince him that my Daemon was truly the departed Aegon Targaryen. He has already faked his own death so he can raise young Aegon and when the time comes the Targaryen name alone will bring him the allies he needs."_

_Seeing the shocked expression upon his face, Illyrio's cold look disappeared in favor of a large smirk. Varys was beside himself, amazed at how clever the plan seemed. It appeared his friend was not so lost in grief as he had previously thought. Finally able to speak, Varys felt a smile grace his face for the first time that day. "Well, well, it appears my quick tongue has made me look quite the fool. My sincerest apologies for ever doubting your ingenuity, old friend. Whatever you need, you can count on me."_

_Illyrio let out a deep laugh that made his belly rumble and sat down again. "The pieces are in place, but we will need a friendly face in King's Landing who can keep us well informed when the time comes." Illyrio offered his hand, which Varys readily took. "We will take the throne and with us guiding Daemon we will become more powerful than ever imagined. Now, in the morning you should head for King's Landing, wouldn't want the stag getting suspicious."_

_Varys offered a simple nod, let go of Illyrio's hand and left the room without another word. There was so much that could go wrong, but the thought of being the power behind the throne was too good to pass up. Being the power, he could finally make the smallfolks' lives better and do what needed to be done to see the realm prosper. Making up his mind, Varys made his way towards the harbor to find a ship to King's Landing._

Varys rose from his seat and stretched before sitting back down. All these years it had always seemed that ruling through Daemon would be for the best, especially after Joffrey began showing signs of cruelty. There was always the worry about questions of legitimacy, even with the Pisswater Prince story. Afterall, just as he told Lord Stark, no one trusts the eunich. Jon would have no issues of legitimacy, no one would question Ser Arthur, especially after he spent all these years in the North protecting him. Though to support Jon would mean going back on his word to help Illyrio sit Daemon on the throne. Still, Illyrio had grown increasingly unhinged since Serra's death, drowning himself in decadence and repeatedly mistreating his servants even taking several into his bed against their will. Varys would never seek power for powers-sake, but the same could not be said for his old friend. Illyrio had shown far too many times that he saw himself as above the low-born, despite his own humble beginnings.

_Illyrio slammed his fist down on the table, knocking over the wine glass before him and startling Varys. They had been arguing for over an hour but had accomplished nothing._

_"NO, DAMN IT! Now is the time, Varys. Westeros is still recovering from the kraken's rebellion, if we act quickly we can use the Golden Company and secure the throne before they know what hit them. Within two moons I could be ruling as regent for Daemon and we would become richer than ever imagined."_

_Varys was taken aback, he couldn't believe Illyrio had become so blinded by his lust for power. "The chaos has subsided and the realm wants peace. If we attempt this now, it would only serve to bring the kingdoms together once again and ruin everything we have worked so hard on for all these years. Your plans for power and wealth won't matter if Daemon dies before he can sit the throne."_

_Illyrio pushed himself away from the table knocking his chair over and drew the dagger he kept hidden within his robes. Leveling it with Varys' eyes, Illyrio spoke in a dangerously low tone. "Your hesitation brings questions, Spider. If I find out you have been working against Daemon, you will quickly find out I am still quite capable." After a short pause, he sighed and continued, "We will hold for now, but I will not wait forever to achieve my goals. You'd best get to work before I change my mind."_

_Without another word, Varys stood from the table and started for the door._

_"Wait," Illyrio called out._

_Looking back, Varys could see that Illyrio had stored the dagger and was headed through the hall towards him._

_"Patience has never been a strong suit of mine as it is yours. Forgive me, old friend, my temper gets the best of me at the worst of times. Go now, and know that you have my complete trust."_

_Varys continued his exit, heading up to his bedchambers and sitting down on the edge of his bed. Illyrio was getting worse with each passing moon. Bent on obtaining a power only the Iron Throne would bring, Varys wasn't even sure it was about Serra anymore. Exhausted, he laid back onto the bed and quickly fell into a restless sleep. The next day he left Illyrio's manse for Kings Landing, happy to be headed away from the shadow of a man he once called friend._

Almost a decade had passed since that argument occurred but not much had changed. It was as if Illyrio had two faces these days, one of a calm, easy-going man in public, while in private he was power-hungry and paranoid, accusing Varys several times of working with Robert against him. Now that Robert is dead, Illyrio would be hellbent to move on Westeros as soon as he can get the Golden Company assembled.

Realizing that recollecting past encounters didn't help him decide, Varys turned his thoughts towards the potention kings themselves. _Afterall, I have been prepared to run interference on Illyrio for a long time._ Daemon had been sent to Jon Connington as a babe to be raised as the 'perfect king' and Varys had never been able to meet him and get a feel for the man he had become. During his time in Westeros, Lord Connington had been arrogant and sought glory which cost him the opportunity to kill Robert at Stoney Sept. If that arrogance has worn off on Daemon, he would likely be a reckless king, disregarding his advisers in favor of his own desires.

Jon had been raised in the North as the honorable Ned Stark's bastard. Although that would most likely lead to him be honest and good, Varys couldn't forget that Illyrio came from humble beginnings, yet that did him no good later in life. There was no time to worry about what might not even come to pass though. Nothing Varys thought of lead him to believe that Lord Stark would raise anyone less than a just and honorable man.

The choice seemed all but certain but there were practical issues to siding with Jon. First, he needed to send a raven to Ser Arthur and convince him to find a way to delay the vow-taking until Lord Stark could get there. If he wasn't able to, then everything else would mean nothing, Jon would be lost forever. Secondly, he would have to orchestrate Lord Stark's escape, without his own head ending up on the block. Difficult, yes, but doable. Thirdly and quite possibly the most difficult, he would have to locate a man who could be trusted completely and can get the Stark girls out of King's Landing._ Jon is the best choice, but only if he does not take his vows._

That decided, he needed to get the raven sent as soon as possible. Varys stood up, back groaning in protest and left the chamber feeling anxious, yet somewhat relieved. It was nighttime now and everyone except for the guards had retired to their bedchambers. He entered the gardens and made his way to the opposite side, constantly scanning the vicinity for anyone who might be following. Hidden away in the far corner of the garden was a grate, seemingly rusted shut and covered in vines, though Varys knew better. He checked around one final time before entering the grate and shutting it securely behind him.

The tunnel was pitch black and dusty but Varys had travelled this path countless times over the years. This particular tunnel even Littlefinger did not know of; it only opened at two entrances, one in the gardens and the other was directly underneath the bed in Varys' chambers.

Varys reached the other end of the tunnel and moved up the staircase to the bed that blocked his exit. He had cut handholds into the bottom of the stone so that there was something to grip. Pushing it far enough so he could get through, Varys let his eyes readjust to the light before checking to make sure nothing seemed out of place. Satisfied, he pushed the bed back in place and shed his disguise, storing it beneath a loose floorboard by the fireplace. He quickly washed up and dressed in a black velvet robe and slippers that was his typical attire.

Varys opened the door and was greeted by rays of sunlight peeking out over the Red Keep's walls. Most would stop to admire the dawn but seeing the sunrise only made him quicken his pace. Soon the keep would begin to rise and he needed to send the raven without anyone knowing what he was doing.

No guard batted an eye at Varys making his way across the keep this early. They knew not what the eunuch was up to but were used to him strolling around whether it be day or night. The rookery now just up ahead, Varys slowed his pace to a crawl and put his ear to the door of Grand Maester Pycelle's chamber. Two voices could be heard from within, one was definitely Pycelle, but the other sounded softer, more feminine.

"I have seen kings rise and fall, dynasties destroyed, and countless gruesome wars. I have served more kings than any man living and saved many liv-" Pycelle's grand speech was interrupted by a sudden hacking cough. After it was done, he continued as if nothing had happened, "-lives doing so. But, Joffrey will be the greatest king of them all. He is a conqueror, brave enough to rival even Aegon I in greatness."

The feminine voice giggled. "But Grand Maester, he has only been king for a few moons, how can you know this?"

Pycelle scoffed. "Sit back down, my dear, and I shall tell you exactly how."

Varys chuckled softly to himself before continuing up the stairs to the rookery. Pycelle had an over-inflated view of his own importance, but he was a rat, dangerous only because he was Tywin Lannister's rat. Pushing wayward thoughts of the Grand Maester and Tywin aside, Varys opened the rookery door to complete silence other than an occasional rustle from one of the cages.

There was a desk on the far wall with a few loose pieces of parchment and a closed inkwell. Varys found a quill in a cabinet on the wall next to the desk. There was enough light now coming through the window that there was no need to light a lantern. He opened the inkwell and set to work composing a letter to Daeron Snow at the Wall, that would raise no suspicion towards himself should the raven fall into the wrong hands. Rather pleased at the finished product, he rolled it up, grabbed the raven designated for the Wall and attached the letter before sending it out the window.

It would take at least a fortnight before a reply could be expected, plenty of time to plan for Lord Stark's escape should Ser Arthur be able to stop Jon. Halfway down the stairs, Varys froze when he heard movement from behind the door to Pycelle's chamber. A girl of around twenty stepped into the hallway, her sharp features alight with cheer. She was tall and slender, with bright green eyes and shoulder-length brown hair that bobbed when she walked; her colored silks hugged her body like a glove, leaving very little to the imagination. _A guest from Littlefinger's brothel, _he surmised. A gnarled hand reached out and dropped a few coins into the girl's out-stretched hand, confirming Varys' assumption.

"There you are, my dear. I expect we shall see each other again quite soon," the Grand Maester said.

"You know where to find me," she cooed.

Varys waited, hoping that the door would shut and he could leave . . . Much to his chagrin, Pycelle then stepped into the hallway and stared after the girl. A few moments later, he sighed and turned back to the stairwell, eyes widening when he noticed Varys. Seeing no other option, Varys adopted a blank expression and continued down the stairs.

"Grand Maester," he said with a forced smile.

Snapping out of his stupor, Pycelle stared suspiciously as if Varys were a sleeping bear, one wrong move could mean his demise. He spoke cautiously, yet with no less arrogance, obviously trying to divert attention from what Varys had just bore witness to. "Lord Varys, what are _you_ doing coming from the rookery at this hour? All messages are meant to be sent by me, per my duties as Grand Maester."

Varys shrugged, choosing to remain nonchalant. "My apologies, Grand Maester, I did not mean to overstep. As you know, with Lord Stark in custody it is imperative to maintain eyes in the North to keep the king informed. I was merely sending out orders to one of my little birds, informing them that they needed to keep an extra close eye on the Starks in the coming weeks and report back immediately should they find something. I had attempted to come to you so that you could take care of the sending of said message; although, when I arrived at your chambers it seemed as if you were rather _preoccupied._"

Pycelle began sweating profusely and his body visibly trembled, making his chain jingle in an oddly amusing way as his expression changed from fear to anger and back again. Finally, a flicker of clarity passed over the old man's face, right before he doubled over in a horrible coughing fit. Varys turned away to give him a bit of privacy. Once it had passed, the Grand Maester appeared to have calmed somewhat; although he still trembled, his beard and hair slick with sweat, giving him the appearance of a dog just in from the rain.

"Quite right. The North certainly needs to be watched in these perilous times. There is nothing that begs apology Lord Varys. _However_, slinking around in the dark can give one the wrong impression. Next time, wait until sunrise and I shall attend to your messages with due haste. We wouldn't want King Joffrey to suspect you of doing anything untoward, now would we?"

Varys stiffened at the poorly veiled threat, but maintained his smile. "Of course, Grand Maester, we certainly wouldn't want that. I'm afraid I must be on my way. Have a good day." At that, Varys left and went back to his own chambers. It had been an exhausting day and night. He undressed to his small clothes and laid back on the bed, quickly falling asleep.

A small council meeting had been set for the third day of the second week. Varys had kept his body set to the task of maintaining his daily routine, though his mind constantly wandered towards the prince at the Wall. Questions had plagued Varys like a horde of angry wasp, "_Am I truly making the right choice? Is it too late?"_ Or the one that haunted him presently, "_What will you do when Illyrio finds out?_" It was likely that Illyrio would have Varys' head piked within a moon should he smell the faintest hint of treachery. Varys shook himself, clearing his mind upon seeing the small council chamber ahead. 

The door swung open revealing that King Joffrey was in attendance, as was Ser Barristan; an odd occurence by all accounts. Five pairs of eyes watched Varys with varying expressions as he took his seat; Cersei and Joffrey as if they had been suckling on lemons, Littlefinger a mocking half-smile, Pycelle a lazy smile as he dozed, but Ser Barristan scarcely glanced, a grave look upon his normally kind face. Joffrey cleared his throat, making sure all eyes were on him before he deigned to speak.

"You're late, Spider," Joffrey sneered.

Varys smiled at the young king. "My apologies, Your Grace. I had urgent business which required my immediate attention."

This time it was Cersei that spoke up. "And what pray tell, was this _urgent business_?"

"As you know, Robb Stark is leading a host south, intent to cross the Neck and secure Lord Stark's release. I must keep in constant communications with my little birds within his camp. They have found out that Robb intends to march his army on your father, Tywin Lannister. I have the scroll right here."

Varys produced the scroll from within his sleeve and passed it to the Grand Maester; who unrolled it and read it to the council. When Pycelle had finished, Littlefinger spoke up. "The boy clearly has no head for war, Your Grace. Your grandfather will defeat them with ease."

Joffrey's face lit up with a sinister grin. "The wolf will rue the day they poked the lion. We'll have a feast when grandfather arrives. Pycelle! Send a raven at once; tell Tywin I want direwolf for the main course!" At Pycelle's nod, he continued. "What a feast it shall be! I'll even serve my _Stark bitch_ her mother and brother's heads." He doubled over, wheezing with laughter.

Ser Barristan watched the king with poorly disguised distaste. "Your Grace," Barristan started cautiously. "A war is not won until the battle is over. The gods favor those who earn respect on the field, not those who laugh at suffering from behind their walls."

The table fell silent, everyone turning to the king to await his reaction. One could almost see the tension in the air, like a thick fog hanging over Blackwater Bay. Joffrey's face turned a deep purple and his hand began to clench and unclench just above the hilt of his sword. 

"_Ser Barristan_." Pycelle made his name sound like an admonishment. "The king will be victorious; it is a disgrace to expect him not to celebrate his assured victory."

"I'm sure Ser Barristan meant no offense by his words," Littlefinger chimed in.

Varys sat back, content to have the attention off him for the moment.

"I only intended to give council, my king. Celebrating prematurely only serves as a distraction, leaving you open to attacks from outside and within. Aerys Targaryen thought little of his enemies, and look where that got him. Caution is a man's greatest ally." 

Cersei scoffed at the old knight. "Aerys Targaryen was a mad cow and my brother butchered him as such. You have served with honor for _many years_; don't give reason to think otherwise now."

Joffrey burst out laughing, spit flying as he banged his fist on the table. Once calmed, he spoke with a wide grin, though his eyes told a different tale. One of a cruel boy king, ready to take on one of the most renowned knights in all the realm. "My father never acted with caution. He never failed, and neither shall I. If you're so _cautious _and full of _wisdom_, then perhaps it is time to trade in your armor for a robe and join the Citadel."

Everyone around the table chuckled with the exception of Varys and Ser Barristan. Varys was largely unmoved; he knew that if Barristan so chose, the council would fall forever silent with just a few strokes of his sword. Fortunately for the chuckling fools, Ser Barristan was not the kind of man to do such a thing. Instead he sat there, his expression further darkening as the chuckling continued. Unable to take such ridicule any longer, Ser Barristan stood up suddenly, knocking his chair down with a loud _crash_. He pointed at Joffrey and spoke with a snarl that made the so-called king cower in his seat. "Arrogance has been the downfall of many kings, including your father. You would be wise to heed words of caution before you suffer a similar fate."

Pycelle shouted at Ser Barristan. "You are bordering on treason, Ser! Apologise immediately."

Cersei chuckled again. "You had best be going, Ser Barristan. We wouldn't want you missing your supper."

Ser Barristan left without a word, slamming the door behind him as he went.

Now that Barristan was gone, Joffrey regained his arrogant posture. "I believe the old man has served long enough. He is a fool who failed to protect my father and would likely fail me as well. It is time for him to retire, or for him to be _retired_."

Varys decided he could remain silent no longer. "Your grace, it is unheard of for a Kingsguard knight to retire. Their vows are for-"

"I am the KING and a king can do as he likes. He is a failure and I will not die because of some old man."

"On the topic of unheard of . . . It is highly irregular for the Master of Whisperers to send ravens, is it not, Lord Varys?" Pycelle smirked at him, believing himself triumphant in trapping the Spider beneath his glass.

"There better be an explanation for this, Varys," Cersei said with a suspicious look.

"Of course, my queen. It is my duty as Master of Whisperers to keep the king informed. As such I am required, at times, to work from dusk til dawn. I went to the Grand Maester's chamber to ask him to attend to the raven personally but it appeared he was already helping someone. Time was of the essence, so I took it upon myself to continue on and send the raven without him. After I was finished, I was on my way back when a girl came out of his chamber and was given several silver. They spoke briefly of seeing each other again and then she left. When Pycelle noticed me, he acted quite strange I must say, yet I can not say why."

Cersei and Joffrey turned their gaze towards Pycelle. The old Maester looked ghastly; his face was now a pasty white shade and his mouth quivered. "As your queen, I demand you speak the truth. While your king is fighting a war, are you ignoring your duties to fuck whores?"

Pycelle looked ready to faint. "Y-your G-grace, my q-queen. I beg y-your forgiveness. It will never h-happen again, I sw-swear it."

Joffrey spoke, cutting off his mother. "See that it doesn't, Grand Maester. If you are caught with another whore, I will have you gelded in front of the entire city. It would be a shame for two eunuchs to grace these halls, instead of just the one. Now, this meeting is over. There are many things I must attend to."

Varys shuddered to think what those things might be. Everyone filed from the room except for Pycelle and Varys. Once alone Varys turned toward Pycelle, all cheer gone from his face. "Next time when attempting to trap the Spider, _bring a bigger glass_." With that Varys left, content to leave the Grand Maester to stew in his failure.

Sensing a possible solution to one of his problems, Varys went looking for Ser Barristan. After searching at the White Sword Tower, Varys finally found him in the cellar where the dragon skulls are kept, staring wistfully at Balerion's skull.

Noticing him enter, the knight started speaking before Varys could say a word. "Growing up, I would accompany my father whenever he traveled to King's Landing. Walking into the throne room was like being transported to a new land. One of magic and wonder; you could almost feel the dragon skulls watching your every move, stripping you bare and revealing your true intent, and the Tarygaryens appeared almost as magical as the dragon skulls themselves. They were born to sit the Iron Throne . . . even Aerys, for a time. But then . . ."

Ser Barristan paused sighing, a dark look passing over his face before he continued. "But then came the Defiance of Duskendale. I still feel as if I might've made a mistake when I rescued him. Nobody knows exactly what happened, but something changed in him. Those following years I often dreamt of killing Aerys myself; though I would never break my vows. Even after listening to him rape Queen Rhaella while he laughed at her misery. It was torture . . . she would scream and cry and beg for me or Ser Arthur to help her until her voice gave out, but we were honor-bound to never act against our king."

Varys noticed a few tears fall from Barristan's eyes but he didn't look away from Balerion's skull. "I was tired of serving an unworthy king, and Rhaegar was proving himself a good man, a man worthy of the throne. When he revealed to me his plans for the tourney of Harrenhal, I felt more excitement than I had felt in a very long time. Obviously that did not turn out the way it should have. There was no conceivable way that Rhaegar was a kidnapper and rapist, but it mattered not after his death. I bent the knee and proclaimed myself for the true king of Westeros."

Varys was surprised by the specific wording he used and decided to question him on it. "I apologize for the interruption, Ser Barristan, but did you say that you proclaimed yourself for the true king, not Robert specifically."

Ser Barristan turned to him with a weak smile. "You heard correctly, I thought I had the last laugh when I took Robert's pardon; years later when I was ready to leave for Essos, tales came that Viserys had become cruel and weak, just as Aerys was. I contented myself with serving Robert, at least he wasn't mad nor cruel. Now it seems as though my time in the Kingsguard is at it's end. Perhaps I will travel east afterall."

"I am shocked you would reveal so much to someone you so blatantly distrust."

"You're right Varys, I do distrust you." Barristan turned back to the skull and set his hand on the bridge of its nose. "I just want to serve one king before I die that I truly feel deserves to be king. That opportunity was stolen from me when Robert caved in Rhaegar's chest at the Trident."

Varys couldn't help but smile at his fortune. He stepped forward and set a hand on the knight's shoulder. "Your dream doesn't have to be dead, Ser. There is another option. He was only recently revealed to me. I have come to find out Rhaegar married Lyanna and sired another son."

Barristan rounded on Varys, drawing his longsword and levelling it at his throat. "Do not play games with me, _Spider_, your trickery won't work. Rhaegar was married to Elia, he couldn't have married the Stark girl."

Varys took a step backwards, which Ser Barristan matched, keeping the sword at his throat. "Listen, Ser, I wouldn't have believed it myself if Lord Stark had not been the one to inform me. Do you take him for a liar?"

At Lord Stark's name, the knight re-sheathed his sword, yet still looked at him with absolute disbelief. "Lord Stark is imprisoned in the black cells for treason. You couldn't possibly have spoken to him."

"My ways are my own but I assure you he revealed many things that I am willing to stake my life upon. He told me, with no intention of gaining his own freedom, as a man unburdening himself after so many years. One such secret was of the true fate of someone I believe to be a dear friend of yours, Ser Arthur Dayne."

Ser Barristan's jaw dropped. "I don't believe it . . . Arthur wouldn't have hidden himself and the child away."

"He was bound by a vow of secrecy that Lord Stark made him swear. So instead, he went north to watch over the boy from afar. Unfortunately, I am still awaiting word on whether the boy is lost to the realm."

"What do you mean?"

"When Lord Stark departed Winterfell he felt it best for the boy to go to Wall, far away from the Lannisters' clutches. Ser Arthur naturally wouldn't let him go alone. When I learned the truth, I immediately sent a raven to attempt to stop them both from taking their vows. I expect a reply, within the next few days to see if I was successful."

"You can count on me for whatever needs to be done; for a child of Rhaegar's blood there is little I wouldn't do."

"When Joffrey dismisses you, I need you to search the city for Lord Stark's youngest daughter. He won't leave without his girls and we'll need him to rally the North. Until then, continue on as you normally would; we can't have the Lannisters getting suspicious." Ser Barristan nodded and strode out of the cellar. Varys lingered for awhile looking at the dragon skulls. Soon perhaps they would grace the walls of the throne room once again.

There was court scheduled for the day Varys anticipated Ser Arthur's reply. Ser Barristan was dismissed, though he put on quite the show before storming out. The Hound was named to the open spot, an odd choice, yet not unexpected. Ser Jaime's appointment as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and Tywin Lannister's as the new Hand of the King was of little surprise as well. The first petitioner was a brother of the Night's Watch named Yoren.

"What would you ask of your king?"

Yoren spoke with a rough accent. "I would ask for the men granted to me. The guards at your gates told me to fuck off or my watch would end."

"This order, was it issued by the Stark traitor?"

Yoren shifted on his feet, looking displeased, "Aye, that is what he is said to be."

"He sought to usurp my throne while my father's corpse was still warm. Do you not think that is treason against your rightful king?"

The conversation teetered on a knife's edge. The guards in the room had taken a half step forward and were now resting a hand on their sword hilt. Luckily, Yoren must have noticed this because he quickly shut his mouth, likely to have said something that would have ended in his death. Varys was intrigued, perhaps he could be useful, if he made it out of the throne room alive.

"The Night's Watch is in bad shape, _Your Grace._ If we aren't prepared when winter comes then the seven kingdoms will bleed."

Joffrey laughed. "Wildlings are no threat to us. If they invade and kill a few Northmen, then we shall throw a feast to celebrate!" 

"Beyond the Wall there are things much older stirring. They won't stop with the North and they won't waste time celebrating. We need those men more than your castle walls need more heads."

Joffrey turned a dark red, glaring daggers at Yoren. He looked ready to give the order when Cersei placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered something to him. When she stepped back, Joffrey looked to have calmed somewhat, though his eyes still shone with fury. "Your request is granted, take any of the scum down there who likes the idea of rotting at the Wall, with the exception of traitors. Now go before I change my mind. Bring forth the next petitioner."

Yoren nodded and left the throne room. Varys was sure that he was the key to retrieving Sansa. He would need to track down Yoren soon to acquire his help. Court continued on for an hour longer, the last petitioner being none other than Sansa Stark herself, begging mercy for her father. Joffrey granted it on the condition that Lord Stark admit to his treason and proclaim him the rightful king. Perhaps in another life he might have accepted such a deal, but after revealing his secrets it was more likely that his last words would be of Jon's true identity.

As the court filed out, Pycelle made his way towards Varys, holding out a raven scroll. Right as he was about to grab the scroll, the Grand Maester dropped it to the floor. Varys bent over and picked it up, coming back up to see Pycelle smirking.

"Old fingers . . ."

Varys was unfazed, smiling back at the old man. "Quite alright, but do be careful. I hear being old is grounds for dismissal these days. Wouldn't want Joffrey thinking you unfit, would we?"

The smile disappeared from his face in an instant. Pleased with himself, Varys walked away before Pycelle could recover. The throne room had too many prying eyes so he decided to go back to his chambers. Once there he sat down and unrolled the scroll, reading the contents quickly before throwing it into the fire.

_It will be done._

Reading those words Varys felt ecstatic, nervous, and relieved at the same time. He hoped above all else that Jon was worth it; he was staking the future of the realm on a boy of sixteen and the man who raised him.

He still needed a man who could infiltrate the Red Keep, reach Sansa, and get her out of the city without getting caught. A certain brother of the Night's Watch might just be the one capable of such a thing, should he be willing.

His little birds were instructed to find Yoren and to report back when they did. An hour after sunset, Varys found himself outside a little tavern in Flea Bottom, dressed as Rugen. The establisment was a small affair, barely able to hold thirty people at its tables. Yoren sat alone in the far corner with his back to the wall, drinking heartily from a mug of dark beer.

Varys crossed the room and sat down opposite Yoren. "This seat taken?" He needed to get a better feel for the man's character, and prompting reactions to slights worked best. Varys spied a plate of plump, juicy pork sausages sitting on the table, untouched. He was famished, truth be told, and devoured one in just two bites. Varys wiped the juices from his chin on his sleeve and noticed Yoren staring at him with an odd look. 

"Aye, I suppose by you." Yoren set down his mug and reached a hand under the table. "As far as last meals go, pork sausage is a pretty shit choice." All of a sudden there was a sharp pressure against Varys' thigh. "I thought the boy might send one of you fuckers to take care of me. 'magine he don't like them that dare not bend over and kiss his royal arse."

Varys couldn't help but laugh, despite himself. "Joffrey does love a good arse kissing, you can be certain of that. But I'm here about a wolf I believe you're familiar with. Now would you kindly put away the blade?"

Yoren remained largely unmoved, yet he did blink at the word _wolf_. "No, I don't think I will. Best get to convincing me why I shouldn't just kill ya and be done with it."

"I am the only one who can get the wolf out of his cage. We have a common ally, and he needs your help."

That threw Yoren off greatly, he swallowed heavily and shifted uncomfortably in his chair before responding. "The Night's Watch cares not for the games of you high lords. What happens to Lord Stark is none of my concern."

He was clearly lying and Varys picked up on it instantly. "Is that so? Are you prepared to see his head posted on a spike. To know that you could have done something to help but refused."

"Hand over your weapon," he replied simply.

Having no choice but to comply, Varys unstrapped the short sword from his waist and passed it across the table. In his hands it was as useful as a feathered pillow anyway, just another piece of the disguise. Spiders relied on their bite, and Varys' bite consisted of words not swords. When it was securely in Yoren's hand, the pressure disappeared from his thigh.

"I still don't trust ya, but if it helps out a wolf then I'll do what you say."

"I would expect nothing less. Too many ears around to talk now. Meet me in the alley behind this place tomorrow during the hour of the wolf and I will reveal all."

Yoren shook his head. "No, I dont think so. Not until you tell me why.

"Why?" he asked, confused.

"Why risk your neck for a wolf?"

"For them," Varys said, gesturing towards the smallfolk around them. "For many years I've been trying to right the atrocities I was party to under the Mad King. I was confused for a long time, believing that I could make my own king to rule through and things would turn out for the better. But recently, a certain wolf told me of a better way and I've been fighting like hell for him ever since."

"Tomorrow night it is." Just like that he stood up and left, not bothering to finish off his beer.

Standing up, Varys checked his thigh but found nothing where the dirk had been pressed. He grabbed his short sword, restrapping it to his waist before dropping a few coppers on the table. Ser Barristan should have snuck back into the city by now and would be expecting word from Varys. Too tired for another long chat, he set his little birds to the task of finding and informing Ser Barristan where to meet the following night.

Varys woke the following morning in a stable near the river gate. He had decided to forego the comforts of his own bed in favor of saving a trip. He met with the harbormaster an hour after dawn, purchasing a skiff loaded with water skins, salted beef, and hard bread. Then he rowed it to the point where the secret tunnel let out, so it would be ready for Lord Stark. 

The sun had set by the time Varys made it back into the city. He needed coin for the plan to work; the last of his own supply had been spent earlier. _I shan't weep should the Lannisters lose some of their precious gold, _he thought as the payhouse came into view. The two-story building was located along the Hook, indistinct if it weren't for the two Lannister guards stationed at the entrance. They rotated out in six hour shifts and never left their post, making it impossible to get in undetected. Unless of course you were someone with Varys' affinity for knowledge. The building was nearly two decades old, built of timber and thatch with a stone chimney that jutted out into the alley behind it. The timber and thatch had been replaced at times over the years but the chimney had not. This led to it becoming cracked and worn, creating the perfect handholds for Varys to climb up and enter the building through a second floor window.

The second floor served as living quarters for the paymaster. He was an old sot who spent most nights in a tavern, drinking until dawn. Luckily for Varys, the room was empty and was likely to remain that way for many hours. The stairs creaked softly with each step Varys took towards the first floor. Opposite the door there was a large desk surrounded by a few chairs and the fireplace behind it. The desk was the likely place for the money to be stored, so Varys started his search there. Underneath, on the right side, there was a drawer, which appeared to be padlocked shut. He found a dagger, its sheath nailed to the bottom of the desk. The lock came loose after a few twists, falling to the floor with a _thunk_. 

"Oy, did you hear something?" a gruff voice called from outside the door.

Varys froze in place, not daring to even breathe.

"I don't hear nothin'. Job's boring enough without you jumpin' at shadows," another voice answered.

The first voice grunted in response before things went quiet again. Varys let out the breath he had been holding, waiting several more minutes before moving. The drawer opened noiselessly, much to Varys' satisfaction. There were several large sacks filled with gold inside. He grabbed the largest one, which Varys estimated contained around four hundred gold dragons. As he shut the drawer one of the remaining sacks fell over, coins clattering against the wood as they poured out.

Varys raced across the room and started up the stairs, right as the guards burst through the front door. "Halt, thief!" one of them called out as Varys made it to the top of the stairs. He knew that if he took the time to climb down the chimney, the guards would catch up. Hearing their footsteps pounding up the stairs, Varys steeled himself and ran towards the open window, clutching the bag to his chest.

Varys landed with a _thud_, his right shoulder slamming into the cobblestones. Not stopping to think, he stood up and cried out in pain when he tried to grab the bag with his right hand. Switching to his left, he was able to pick up the bag and take off down the alley. Varys heard shouts coming from the window, ordering him to stop in the name of the queen, but he just kept running.

Varys was dripping with sweat and panting by the time he reached the alley. Ser Barristan stepped out of the shadows as he approached. Varys' little birds had informed him of this disguise, so he was not surprised to see the Spider in leather and mail. Ser Barristan now had the look of a commoner, unkempt and unclean, dressed in a brown roughspun robe with a simple dagger sheathed at his waist. 

Barristan looked him over with a quizzical expression. "What happened to you?"

"I _borrowed_ some money from the lions," he answered, holding up the bag of gold. Laughing, he clapped Varys on his shoulder, causing him to drop the sack and cry out in pain. He looked up to see the knight staring at him with an eyebrow raised. "I ran into a bit of trouble getting the gold," he stated.

"_Dammit, Varys_. How could you be so reckless? Did they see you?" Barristan exclaimed, sounding anxious.

"No, they never got a good look at me. They'll just think me some bandit or sellsword looking for quick money. But I had to leap from the second floor window to escape and I think I broke my arm in the fall."

"Take off your armor and let me have a look."

Varys moved slowly, wincing at the pain several times before the armor was off. The shoulder had turned a nasty purple shade and the bone appeared to be bent backwards. Ser Barristan stepped forward and gently probed around the shoulder blade with his fingers.

"I don't think it's broken, but it is dislocated."

"Can you fix it? If the Lannisters find out they'll start asking questions."

"Believe it or not I've had a bit of practice with it over the years. Rhaella . . ." Barristan stopped for a moment to compose himself. "Rhaella often got dislocated shoulders after her and Aerys' _-ahem-_ nights together. She didn't trust Pycelle, so after a few unsuccessful attempts of her own, she started coming to me to set it for her." Ser Barristan took the sheathe of his dagger and offered it to Varys. "Here, bite down on this." 

He stuck it in his mouth and bit down as Barristan took a firm hold of his wrist. It felt as though he was moving at a snails pace, drawing out his pain. Varys almost collapsed but someone grabbed his other arm and kept him on his feet. After another minute of searing, white-hot pain there was a _pop_ and the pain dulled to a sharp ache. Vision now clear again, Varys saw that the man who kept him upright was Yoren. _Thank the gods, _he thought to himself, _as if we need anymore surprises._

"How'd you fuck up your shoulder?" Varys liked that the watchman was never one to mince words. It was a pleasant change up from the vast majority of King's Landing, to whom speaking out the side of their mouths was second nature.

Varys smiled as he redressed. "Oh, I was just taking a deposit from the Lannisters."

"Are you soft in the head? You're going to bring half the city down on us." He gestured towards Ser Barristan. "And who the fuck is that?"

The coins spilling over had been an unforeseen turn of events, but Varys doubted they could identify him. The armor and short sword could belong to any number of sellswords in the city. Plus, once he was back in the Red Keep, there could be any number of _reports_ come in stating anything he pleased.

"I am Ser Barristan Selmy, and who might you be?"

"I'm Yoren, now someone better get to tellin' me why I'm here."

Varys breathed deeply and began laying out the plan. "I suppose I should start by telling you my name. I am Varys, current Master of Whisperers to Joffrey Baratheon. A few weeks ago, Lord Stark revealed to me a trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark is hidden away at the Wall."

"You don't mean the bastard, do ya?"

"Yes, he has been disguised since birth for his protection. That is why Lord Stark must get to the Wall, to tell Jon the truth. I presume you'll be travelling north by the Kingsroad, correct?"

Yoren spat and looked on with distaste. The Watch hadn't been payed the taxes it was due in decades. The North was the only kingdom left who took the Watch seriously, Lord Stark chief among them. "Aye, the Watch can't afford any other way."

Varys nodded, expecting as much. "I thought so. But you see, I need you to travel by ship, which is why I stole the coin. After Lord Stark escapes, a horse will be awaiting him on the northern coast of Blackwater Bay. He'll be waiting for you along the coast of Rosby. You may need to give the captain a little extra coin to stop there, but first I need you to do something else."

"Let's have it then. I'm not gettin' any younger."

"There is a passageway past the dungeons on the fourth floor. It leads to a ladder that will take you up to the Tower of the Hand. Sansa Stark is still staying in her chambers there. You'll need to reach her, convince her to come with you and sneak her out with the other prisoners you acquire from the dungeons."

Yoren stared ahead with unseeing eyes, weighing his options. After a minute he shook himself and nodded at Varys. "I'll get the wolves home. Whatever it takes."

"Okay, good." He turned to Barristan, who had been watching the exchange in silence. "Ser Barristan, do you remember what is needed of you?"

"Yes, I'm to scour the city for Arya Stark. Then I assume I'm to bring her to the ship headed north."

"Correct. We will not be able to meet-"

"Oy! What are you lot doin' here at this hour?" a rough voice called from the end of the alley.

_As if this night could get any worse, _Varys thought as he turned back to see a gold cloak walking towards them; he already had his sword unsheathed and at the ready, a torch in the other hand. None of them answered as the man approached, not entirely sure what to do.

"_I said_, what are you fuckers doin' here?"

Varys took the initiative, stepping in front of the sack and raising his hands. "We are merely old friends, who met up for a drink in the tavern. It got a bit too loud so we came out here to talk."

The guard looked unconvinced, sweeping his eyes over each of them. Suddenly his eyes stopped between Varys' legs. "Step to the side," the guard ordered.

Varys did as he was told, knowing it wouldn't take long for the guard to work out exactly what the sack contained. The guard's eyes widened and he took a step forward, tightening his grip on his sword. "Hand over the sack and I'll let you go free."

_There's no other option_, he dismayed. Varys picked up the sack and held it out reluctantly. The guard sheathed his sword and grabbed the sack, feeling its weight.

"Been a pleasure. Take care." The guard turned and started back up the alley, whistling as he went.

Varys was beginning to run through options when he saw Yoren dash past, dirk in hand. Yoren clamped a hand over the guard's mouth and rammed the blade through the chain mail. The guard let out a strangled cry and tried reaching for the dirk to no avail. When the struggling ceased, Yoren pulled the dirk out and let the body drop to the ground.

Varys stepped forward, avoiding the rapidly pooling blood, and grabbed the sack from where it hit the cobbles. He held it out to Yoren, who cleaned his blade on the dead guard's cloak, took it and left.

"How could he just do that?" Ser Barristan asked after Yoren was gone.

Varys sighed, looking at the dead guard. "It's not easy, but it needed to be done. We best clear out before more guards show up. My little birds have been tasked with helping to find the Stark girl. They'll bring her straight to you."

Barristan nodded once before heading off into the night. _A shame, _he thought, looking down at the body one last time before leaving the alley himself.

The following two days were spent covering Varys' tracks after the incident at the payhouse. His little birds brought him several reports stating they saw a man in leather and chain mail fleeing the city towards the Kingswood. Joffrey ordered the Lannister guards' pay cut until they caught the thief and brought back his head. This resulted in large numbers of Lannister men searching the Kingswood for weeks to no avail.

Yoren chartered a ship heading north, aptly named _The Wolf's Howl. _Ser Barristan had not found Arya, despite having the help of Varys' little birds. Lord Stark was set to be freed in four days, giving him time to reach the coast outside of Rosby. Two days after, while the Lannisters scramble to find a man long gone, Yoren will slip out of the harbor, hopefully with two little wolves in tow.

Finally the day was here and Varys found himself trembling with anticipation. Dressed as Rugen, neither of the guards posted at the dungeon's entrance paid him any mind as he swept past them. Reaching the cell, Varys unlocked the door and went inside. Lord Stark's eyes snapped open at the sudden noise, peering up as Varys crossed the room.

"Couldn't forget about my new pet wolf, now could I?" Varys was jesting, but Lord Stark failed to find it amusing.

"What do you want, _Spider_? Come to laugh at me before that boy takes my head." Lord Stark's voice cracked as he spoke. His cheeks were gaunt, his clothes clung like a second skin, and his hair looked as if several rats had taken residence; he was a mere shadow of the man who had ridden proudly through the gates of King's Landing.

Varys mentally kicked himself, _how could I have forgotten to have food sent down? _"My sincerest apologies, Lord Stark, the jest was in poor taste. I've got no intentions of seeing your head parted from your shoulders, rest assured. In fact, I've come to set you free." Varys pulled a waterskin from his belt and held it out. "Drink this, you'll need your strength."

Lord Stark grabbed the waterskin and drank deeply, only pausing for air when necessary until it was empty. He looked up at Varys again, this time with a skeptical look. "Were you able-" His sentence was cut off by a violent, hacking cough but Varys understood the sentiment.

"Ser Arthur was informed and sent word that _it will be done_. Time is of the essence though."

Lord Stark struggled to his feet, using the wall for support and attempted taking a step. Fortunately, Varys had been standing there and caught him under the arms. _If the wolf can't walk then we're done for. _

"I'll be fine. Lets get out of here." Varys admired the Stark spirit, but reckless behavior would only lead to an early execution. Instead of heading for the door, he leaned Lord Stark against the wall.

"My lord, there are some things we need to discuss first. Get steadied while I go over the plan." Lord Stark didn't look happy but motioned for Varys to continue. "There is a secret tunnel that leads from the fourth floor to the cliffs over Blackwater Bay. Handholds were cut so people could scale down to the beach below with relative ease. I left a skiff tied up at the bottom with supplies to last you a week. Take the skiff across the bay and you'll find a horse waiting for you along the northern shore. Ride hard for Rosby and camp there on the beach. Within a few days, a ship will pick you up on its way to the Wall."

"What of my daughters?"

"They will be on the ship." _I hope._

"How can you be certain?" Lord Stark demanded.

"Ser Barristan and Yoren of the Night's Watch are working tirelessly to find them. They _will_ succeed and reunite you with your daughters."

Lord Stark relaxed at the mention of two men he knew and trusted. He pushed himself from the wall and was able to move around, albeit shaky and slow. "Lets go," he said, heading towards the door.

_If anyone can survive in this condition, it's him_. Varys snapped out of his musing in time to see Lord Stark start down the hall. Reaching the doorway, he saw that Lord Stark was already a dozen paces away, moving like a man possessed.

Varys finally caught up as they reached the stairwell leading to the fourth floor. It had been designated for the torture of prisoners when the keep was first built. Robert had no taste for torture, so he removed the guards and ordered all the torches snuffed, essentially closing off the area. _Doubtful it will remain closed off much longer._

They each grabbed a torch from behind them and descended the stairwell. On either side of the hallway, there was every torture device known to man, most of which had occupants long forgotten still strapped to them. The whole floor was ripe with the smell of waste and decay. _Flea Bottom smells quite similar to this, _Varys thought as he walked_. _

At the end of the hall there was a tunnel hidden behind a floor length tapestry depicting the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. The tunnel went on for about a hundred feet before opening up into the chamber of the dragon mosaic. The chamber served as a junction for six different tunnels, each leading to a different portion of the keep.

The tunnel leading to the cliffs was directly across the chamber. Varys heard Lord Stark gasp when their torchlight illuminated the red and black tile mosaic that took up most of the central floor. Turning back, he saw Lord Stark staring down with a look of awe. "Amazing, isn't it?"

"Aye, it is. Such a powerful dynasty brought down by a mad king and a lovestruck prince."

"Yes, oft-times the greatest dynasties are felled by the most trivial things. Come now, we need to continue on." Lord Stark said nothing as he followed Varys from the chamber. Before long the smell of salt began to permeate the air around them. Another fifty feet and the gentle crashing of waves echoed through the tunnel and the exit came into view.

When they reached the cliffs, Varys saw nothing but sheer determination written on Lord Stark's face as he stared at the rowboat below. It was still tied firmly to the shore, although the tide had it bobbing up and down slightly as the waves came in. When Varys turned his attention back to Lord Stark, he was surprised to see a hand held out to him. "Lord Stark . . ."

"Call me Ned, any man who would do all this, I would gladly name friend."

Varys said nothing but took the offered hand and gave it a firm shake before speaking. "He better be worth it."

"He will be, I swear it. I only hope he can forgive me after all this time." Lord Stark turned away and stared out across the bay.

"You really must be going, but there is one more thing." _It was a pain to steal, but what is a wolf without its fangs. _Varys unlatched the sheathed sword and passed it to Lord Stark.

"It's Ice, but how did you . . . I thought it lost . . ." Lord Stark straightened himself but still looked at the sword with utter disbelief. "Lord Varys. You have the gratitude of myself and House Stark for your help against the Lannister traitors. It will not be forgotten."

"I humbly accept but there is no cause for gratitude. If Jon had taken his vows I would not have acted as such. Now go and remember where honor got you, there won't always be someone there to save you."

A grave look passed over Lord Stark's face but he nodded and strapped Ice to his back before beginning the climb down. _There is still work to be done_, he reminded himself. Varys didn't stop until he reached the chambers of his disguise. The fire had long died out, just as he intended. He pulled the mostly burnt parchment from his pocket and tossed it into the fireplace before leaving the room. _Pin the blame on another great family and the Lannisters will never suspect it was I. _

Varys could not be caught entering his own chambers as Rugen, so he went to the gardens to use the tunnel. The gardens were filled with highborn ladies milling about chattering between themselves, not giving one errant thought to the dirty armored man strolling by. When Varys arrived at his chambers he immediately changed, washed and dressed in a robe. After applying some sweet scented perfume to mask any lingering odors, he gathered up the disguise and found a little bird to dispose of it. _The great game begins anew, and may the dragon emerge victorious just as it did centuries ago . . ._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated


	3. Arthur I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ser Arthur has a dream . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone for all the kind words and kudos on the opening two chapters. It really has gotten me pumped to write and I can't wait to bring you all more.

_Ser Arthur Dayne surveyed the battlefield, seeing only the unarmed Lord Eddard Stark still moving. The battle had lasted under ten minutes, yet it felt as though he and the seven northmen had been locked in combat for a century. Ser Oswell Whent had fallen first of the three Kingsguard; outnumbered three to one, he fought bravely, taking two with him to the grave before a lucky cut opened his throat. Ser Gerold Hightower fought the other three northmen, leaving Lord Stark for Arthur himself. The Lord Commander fought like the white bull that he was known as; he received a dozen wounds, yet he fought through it, sending all three to the ground before succumbing himself. Lord Eddard was joined by his last companion but the short man was quickly knocked unconscious by the flat of Dawn. Arthur's sword whirled as if an extension of his own arm, pressing Lord Eddard further and further until a flat-bladed strike hit the young lord's wrist, knocking his sword clean out of reach. In an last ditch effort to reach a weapon, Lord Stark tripped over a rock, landing hard on his back, giving Ser Arthur the opportunity to level Dawn at his throat._

_"I have no wish to kill you, yield and I will allow you to bury your dead and ride away in peace." _

_Lord Stark said nothing, though his eyes spoke the truth; he would never yield, not while the Princess Lyanna lay waiting just inside the tower. Ser Arthur took no joy from the taking of life, he held no enmity for the man. Yet the man refused to yield, so he was left with no choice. Ser Arthur raised his blade to strike the killing blow. Lord Stark shut his eyes and whispered, "Lyanna . . ."_

_A blood curdling scream ripped through the silence, almost as if it were in response to the young lord. The princess! Ser Arthur turned from Lord Stark and took off, bowling straight over the short man who had been on the ground unconscious only a moment ago. He continued on, though the back of his mind registered that the small man had been poised behind him with a dagger._

_Ser Arthur heard footsteps from behind him, but he didn't stop until he reached the princess' door. The chamber smelled of blood and roses; a mixture of metallic and sweet that almost made Arthur greet his breakfast for a second time. The princess laid in a bed of winter roses, covered only by a silk shift drenched with sweat and sheets pulled up to her waist. When Arthur reached the side of the bed he finally noticed the cause of her scream; the sheet was stained with blood, sprouting from between her legs. When he touched Lyanna's arm she smiled and looked up at him. "Ned, is he?" she inquired in a weak voice._

_"Still alive, my princess. He is on his way. You saved my life . . ."_

_Lyanna sighed and her smile stretched into a wide grin. "Didn't I tell you? You've got your pretty sword, yet I still have to save you . . ." _

_Ser Arthur laughed as Ned burst into the chamber looking crazed, with his clothes dirty and his sword held out in front of him. Ser Arthur drew Dawn, calmed by the familiar sound of it scraping against the leather scabbard. "Put the sword away, Lord Stark, I do not wish to spill your blood in sight of your kin. _

_Lyanna gripped Ser Arthur's arm with surprising strength as she forced herself to a sitting position. "Arthur! Ned! Stop this nonsense . . ." She fell back on the pillow as her strength gave out._

_Ned sheathed his sword, crossed the room and knelt beside the bed. "Lyanna, I tried to come sooner. I couldn't find you . . ." Tears streamed down the young lord's face as he gripped her hand._

_She looked strangely at peace laying there holding her brother's hand. "Rhaegar gave me a son, can you believe it?"_

_Ser Arthur looked around the chamber and finally spotted the wet nurse seated in the corner, feeding a little babe. He sheathed Dawn and went to her. The babe looked healthy, had a small tuft of dark hair and eyes that had already begun to turn grey. The wolf's blood, Ser Arthur thought. He took the babe from the wet nurse and set it gently into the waiting arms of its mother._

_Lyanna looked down at the babe with a sad smile as more tears fell. "His name is Aegon Targaryen. Robert . . . if he finds out . . . you have to protect him . . . both of you." _

_Ser Arthur couldn't help the tears that streamed down his face. "Princess Lyanna, of the Houses Stark and Targaryen, I hereby swear that I will guard your son, the rightful heir, until my death."_

_Lyanna turned towards Ned, who had his eyes fixed to the floor. "Promise me, Ned . . . protect him . . . promise me."_

_Ned looked up at Lyanna and began to cry. "I will Lyanna, I promise," he managed._

_The light left Lyanna's eyes as she passed on, still smiling up at her brother. Ser Arthur closed them and dropped to his knees, sobbing. Arthur and Ned remained there for some time, sobbing until their tears ran dry._

_Finally, Ned stood up and took the babe from Lyanna's arms and left the room without a word. Ser Arthur fell backwards when Lyanna sat straight up and stared at him, speaking with a cold determination. "Arthur, it is time. My brother has found naught but snakes in King's Landing. Do not let Jon take his vows, no matter the cost."_

_Ser Arthur was frightened, yet also calmed by the sound of her voice. "Jon? His true name is Aegon."_

_Lyanna's smile never reached her eyes. "My son was raised as Jon, and so he shall remain. The only thing that matters is that you stop him from taking his vows without telling him the truth. Ned will be there soon, I promise you."_

_"How can I stop him without the truth?"_

_Lyanna stepped from the bed, shift still soaked in blood and took him by the shoulders, shaking him. "You will find help at Castle Black. Use them . . . Daeron! Wake up!" _The scene around Arthur shifted; Lyanna became Jon, standing over him with a smile. When Arthur sat up he saw that the room around him had also changed, he was back in Hardin's Tower at Castle Black.

"Come on, Daeron, we gotta get to the common hall before Sam eats all the bacon again." Jon looked the very picture of Lyanna, long-faced with dark brown hair that fell to his shoulders and dark grey almost black eyes. He stared down at Arthur with a large grin. "Come along, _old man_, you can't miss your morning meal."

The two had become fast friends on the journey from Winterfell. Ser Arthur had been living as Daeron Snow since the Tower of Joy and had learned a lot of what Jon felt growing up. The villagers at winter's town whispered of his arrival; the strange man tanned from the Dornish sun with a northern bastards name. Now, sixteen years later, all traces of his life in Dorne were gone. It was like some force had driven them together, as soon as Jon had heard there was another bastard journeying willingly to the Wall, he approached him that very night.

He had looked nervous as he stood by where Ser Arthur was seated against a great pine in the Wolfswood. "Excuse me . . . I heard your name is Daeron Snow. Do you mind if I join you?"

"Sure, take a seat. You're Jon . . . Jon Snow, right? Lord Stark's boy?"

Jon sat down across from him. "Lord Stark is my father. I'm curious, why did you choose to come to the Wall?"

Ser Arthur sighed, looking at the boy that should be king. "Honestly, I don't really know some days. When I returned from the Rebellion, the townspeople all looked at me strange, avoiding my gaze like I had come down with the plague. Sixteen years later, I saw an opportunity to find my place in this world, and here I am."

Jon looked at him as if weighing the truth of his words. "I thought much the same, until Yoren joined us with those _men_. Now I don't know what to believe. I'm a bastard, I'll always be a bastard, where else can someone like me . . . _like us_ . . . truly belong?"

Ser Arthur watched the boy, feeling deep anguish. _He doesn't deserve this, no one deserves this. _"Listen here Jon, a bastard we may be, but that doesn't mean we can't achieve great honor. Your life is what you make it, and if you so chose, you could ride from here right now and no one would fault you. Those rapers are evil, vile, cowards, but you are not them. They have no choice, you do."

Jon let out a short bark of nervous laughter. "Lady Stark would never allow me to return to Winterfell." He nodded as if accepting his fate, looking decades older than his sixteen years. "The Wall is the place for me. I will live my life with honor, and defend the realm from danger. Thank you for the conversation, Daeron, it will be good to have a companion who understands what it's like." Just like that Jon was gone, walking back towards his uncle. _This is wrong, damn the day I vowed to keep my bloody silence. _Jon often sought him out over the rest of their journey, chatting about their lives and family. Arthur hated lying, but it was a necessary evil for now.

Arthur snapped from his musing to see Jon still smiling down at him. "Were you daydreaming of the good old days, back when you were still young."

Arthur grinned and got up from his cot. "You stink of spring, _boy._ Perhaps after you've lived through a few winters you'll finally be able to best me in the yard."

"I bested you just yesterday . . ."

Arthur pushed the dream from his mind as they left the tower and made for the common hall. "Only because you had that wolf of yours trip me."

There was no softening the truth; Castle Black and the Night's Watch had been reduced to near ruin from decades of being underpaid and undersupplied. _If only Rhaegar had lived, _Ser Arthur thought mournfully. Rhaegar had traded ravens with Maester Aemon often, speaking of the comings and goings of King's Landing and Castle Black. He had promised Maester Aemon that when he came in to the throne, the Night's Watch would be restored to the days of Lord Commander Hoare. _If only he had lived._

After eating his morning meal, Ser Arthur split off from Jon and went to see Maester Aemon, hoping that he would have some insight into his dream. One of Aemon's squires, Clydas, he said his name was, showed Arthur to the library. Every surface was covered with a fine layer of dust, except for the table, which held a single candle and numerous books stacked on top of one another. The Maester was seated in a wooden chair. His unseeing eyes followed Arthur as he walked to the chair opposite Aemon. "Maester . . . could we speak . . . privately?" Arthur glanced at the short elderly man standing straight-backed by the door.

Aemon nodded. "Clydas, that will be all for now. Go and break your fast, Chett will be along soon." The steward nodded and left the room. "He's a good man. So very dutiful, just like yourself, Ser Arthur."

Arthur was dumbfounded, yet had enough composure left to frame his response. "_How_ . . . ?" Or rather, he thought he had enough composure. The single word came out as the smallest of whispers, a wonder it could be heard it at all.

Aemon reached out and patted his hand reassuringly. "The men spoke of your past. You showed up in winter's town after the Rebellion, deeply tanned and worked as a builder until coming to the Wall. Your body was never returned to Starfall, yet no one dared question Lord Stark's word. My nephew, Rhaegar, often spoke of your prowess with a sword and it seems, if word is to be believed, you have proved more than capable in the yard. But I suppose I couldn't be certain until hearing your reaction. So tell me, what brings you to the Wall after all these years? If you're looking to crown me king, you may as well turn back and head for warmer lands."

Arthur let the words sink in. He would have made a great king, had he so chosen. Aemon was wise and kind, yet firm, despite his frail appearance. "No, though I would like to crown a king, one that the Lannisters and their bloody mountain of gold couldn't stand against."

"I'm afraid I know no such man. There are no kings at the Wall, only boys and tired old men."

Arthur paused, to go any further would be breaking his vow. He had always held true to his word, but Lyanna had said not to let Jon take his vows. _No matter the cost, _Arthur reminded himself. _If seating Jon on the throne meant losing my head, I will pay the price happily and join Rhaegar in the afterlife. _"Your thrice great-nephew is here . . ." The words stuck in his throat as he fought past the urge to hide the truth.

"This can't be . . . the raven said . . . Aegon lives?" The Maester dropped Arthur's hand and began to tremble. Fresh tears leaked from his eyes as the door opened. A short, scrawny man walked into the room; his face was riddled with pimples and boils and there was a large cyst on his neck, yet he walked as if he were a king. "Chett, is that you?"

Chett stepped up behind Aemon and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Yes, Maester, Clydas said you were here _alone _so I rushed back. Do you need anything?"

"Maester Aemon is clearly not alone. We were speaking privately, if you would be so kind as to wait outside."

Chett turned his nose up at Arthur. "Wasn't speaking to you, _bastard_ . . ."

"You would do well to remember your courtesies, Chett. This man is to be your brother. Apologize and then wait outside until you are called."

Chett didn't try to hide the anger on his face. He grit his teeth and made for the exit. "_Apologies_," he said over his shoulder as the door shut.

"Now, as you were saying, Ser. My nephew is at the Wall? No one has spoken of a boy with the Valyrian markings."

Ser Arthur shifted in his seat, something felt off about the squire. "Yes . . . and thank the gods for that. His looks allowed him to be hidden in plain sight."

"Then how is this possible?"

"Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar fell in love. They hid away in Dorne and the High Septon wed them-"

"Rhaegar was married to Elia Martell, he couldn't have married another."

Arthur smiled at the floor, recalling all the good memories of his prince. "Yes, Aemon, that is true. Elia and Rhaegar's marriage was always political, though they came to care for one another, but it was never love. And the poor woman had always been frail, due to her being born prematurely. Princess Rhaenys' birth left her bedridden for half a year, and Prince Aegon's nearly killed her. At Rhaegar's request, the High Septon annulled their marriage and allowed him to marry Lyanna, so that their love would be true in the eyes of both gods and men."

"I never believed that he had kidnapped the girl . . . but after so many years . . ."

"They fell in love at Harrenhall and she fled from her betrothal to Robert Baratheon to be with Rhaegar. It was there at the Tower of Joy where the heir to House Targaryen was born. Princess Lyanna died in childbed but her son was raised in the North by Lord Stark." Arthur stopped to let the words sink him. There was no doubt that soon Aemon would realize who he was referring to.

Aemon tapped the arm of his chair thoughtfully. "Lord Stark, you say? Hmm . . . raised in the North . . . his bastard!" He chuckled. "That man truly has more cunning than most give him credit for."

Arthur laughed. "Yes, I suppose he does have a cunning side, when needs be."

"I am overjoyed to hear of my nephew's survival, but that does not explain why you came to me."

"Jon doesn't know the truth and intends to join the Night's Watch, thinking he has no other choice."

Aemon reached out and grabbed Arthur's hand. "Why come to me then? Would it not be easier just to tell him the truth."

Arthur sighed. "I've wanted nothing more since the boy's birth." A tear fell from his eye. "Lord Stark made me swear never to tell a living soul . . . but something's changed. Lyanna came to me and said Lord Stark would be here soon to reveal all to Jon. She said I would find the help required here."

Aemon patted his hand and smiled. "I'm not sure what help I could provide, but I will see what can be done. My vows have been tested three times in my life thus far, and three times I have turned my back. This time is different. I believe I may be able to help without breaking any vows."

"Thank you, Maester Aemon. I must take my leave, but it is important that Jon learn the truth from Lord Stark." Aemon patted his hand one last time and nodded. Lyanna had told him it needed to be Lord Stark, and even if Arthur didn't understand, he would obey.

Outside the chamber, Chett had disappeared. Arthur couldn't shake the odd way he felt about his encounter with the squire. Jon was waiting for him in the yard, two blunted swords in hand. "Care to train? Only if you're done reminiscing about the glory days with Maester Aemon, that is."

Arthur grinned and took the offered sword. "Oh, I'll show you a thing or two I learned from the _glory days._"

That night, after supping on a meal of pork pie and black bread, he retired to Hardin's Tower, leaving Jon alone with his friends. The other boys had hated Jon at first because he had been arrogant while training in the yard, giving them no quarter despite how green they were. A swift lesson from the castle's blacksmith, Donal Noye, made Jon realize what a privileged upbringing he had, unlike the other boys. Since then, Jon had reconciled with his fellow recruits and even began helping them with their swordplay, which Arthur gladly assisted with. Samwell was a different story though, he could barely hold a sword upright, much less swing it. Jon had been quick to befriend him, and protected him from Ser Alliser ever since. Sam was fat and fearful, yet had a good heart and was rather intelligent. _The boy's tale is tragic, but none of my concern. _

Ser Arthur found the door to his cell ajar. _Odd, _he thought, drawing the dagger he kept at his belt. Inside, Ser Alliser sat on the corner of Arthur's cot sharpening his dirk with a whetstone, behind him, Chett stood against the wall, smirking. "Ser Alliser. Chett. What do you want? I'm rather tired."

Ser Alliser's eyes glistened, whether it was with murder or joy, Arthur wasn't sure. "Pimpleface here says you aren't who you claim to be. In fact, he says you're the long _dead _knight Ser Arthur Dayne. He also says that the bastard is the heir to House Targaryen."

Arthur laughed, though he readied himself to fight should the need arise. "_Me? Ser Arthur Dayne . . . _My family will be so pleased to hear that I'm no longer a bastard. Perhaps I should send them a raven straight away." Arthur sighed, still smiling. "If only I knew where to send it . . ."

Chett stepped forward and pointed a finger at Arthur's chest. "I heard you with Maester Aemon. He kept callin' you Ser Arthur and he even agreed to help you crown a Targaryen. Bet the queen'll give me a mighty reward for the both of you."

Ser Arthur leveled the man with a stare and spoke with such ice the air seemed to drop several degrees. "If I were who you claim me to be, then you should be very afraid for what comes next." All of the ice left Arthur and he chuckled. "But alas . . . I am simply Daeron Snow. I don't know who my father was but my mother worked as a baker until a sickness took her when I was twelve. I fought in Robert's Rebellion, then lived a quiet life as a builder until joining Benjen Stark in coming to the Wall."

Chett wouldn't back down. "Liar! I heard you!" He turned back to Ser Alliser. "I say we steal away with them both and ride for King's Landing. We'll be heroes of the realm and they'll shower us in riches!"

Ser Alliser stowed his whetstone and stood up. He looked at the squire with the same rock hard glare he gave everyone. "So what you're saying is that we desert our post and forego our vows for riches and power?"

Chett paled and backed up against the wall. "N-no, no Ser. It's just that . . . everyone knows what the Mad King did. The Lannisters saved us from him. We'd be protecting the realm, far better than we could at the Wall. That's all I meant."

Ser Arthur stood by the door and watched as Ser Alliser approached Chett. Then he did the strangest thing; he started laughing, a deep-throated laugh that filled the room. He stepped forward and slapped Chett on the shoulder with his free hand, the other still held the dirk. "Perk up, we travel at first light. I would be a fool to turn down an opportunity to return home. Go now and prepare for our journey, I'll secure our prisoner here. We can grab the bastard come morn."

Chett regained his composure and smiled past Ser Alliser at Arthur. "Well, _Ser Arthur, _it seems your pretty little head will find its way to a spike real soon. See you at first light . . ."

Arthur had no intention of letting Chett leave his room alive. The squire walked past Ser Alliser, a large smile still plastered on his pimpled face. His head snapped back and a blade flashed, opening his throat from ear to ear. Blood sprayed out like warm red rain as the boy struggled to breathe. Chett's head was released and he fell to the floor with a _thud. _Ser Alliser whistled as he wiped his dirk clean on the dead squire's cloak. "Bloody deserters, can't stand 'em. Now, I know you're Ser Arthur, no point in denying it. Pimpleface told me everything."

"I suppose not. What do you plan on doing with that information?"

Ser Alliser moved back to the cot and sat down. "Oh, I don't know. I could take you before the Lord Commander, or maybe send a raven to King's Landing. But . . . I'm not going to do either of those things."

Arthur didn't trust the man. He had just opened a man's throat, the blood creeping across the floor a testament to that. "What then?"

Ser Alliser looked up at him. "I intend to help you. I'm the Master-at-arms. I say who's ready take the black and Mormont can't do a damn thing. I'll give you as much time as you need for Stark to get here. Though if you or the boy take the vows and try to desert. I'll hunt you down myself."

It was something, but not quite enough. "If you seek to play me false, than you had best strike me down now while you have the advantage. There will not be another opportunity. You know who I am, and you know I do not idly boast."

Alliser chuckled dryly. "Yes, I've watched you in the yard, the years have not dulled your skill by much. Though there is something you do not know. After Tywin Lannister sacked the city, he gave myself and several others a choice. Either go to the Wall, or have my head piked above the city gates I had defended. I lost everything that day, even though I had surrendered. Make no mistake, I have no qualms with serving the Night's Watch, but I hate Lord Tywin. You've sworn no vows, so long as it remains as such I see no issue."

"But doesn't your own vows prohibit you from interfering in the affairs of the realm?"

Alliser cocked his head. "What are you getting at? The boy is too green, and you're too old. You'll need to remain under my charge for some time, I think." 

_Lyanna was right, _Arthur thought. _The help I needed has been here all along. _Arthur felt a genuine smile grace his face for the first time since opening his door. "Yes, I think you are correct. Jon is far too green, and my _old _limbs can barely keep up these days.

Ser Alliser nodded and stood up. "I'll send for someone to clean up this mess on my way to tell the Lord Commander. It would seem Maester Aemon will be in need of a new squire."

Arthur scratched his chin. "Samwell Tarly would be a good fit, I think. He's a knowledgeable lad, knows his letters and numbers. Could help the Maester with the ravens."

"Lady Piggy, I suppose that could work. Gods know, he's bloody worthless with a sword. I'll bring it up with Mormont." Ser Alliser made for the door, careful to step around where Chett's body lay.

"Ser Alliser!" Arthur called out, having remembered a rather important instruction. "You can't treat me or Jon any different than you normally would."

Alliser fixed him with his dead eyed stare. "I'll not be taking orders from you, _bastard._" He left and bumped straight into Jon in the hall. "Out of my way," he ordered, shoving past.

Jon stepped through the doorway and startled at the sight of the Chett's body. "SHIT! What happened?"

Arthur gestured at the body. "Chett here tried to rope me into his plans for desertion. I informed Ser Alliser and he did _this_. Can't say I'll miss the boy though, he was speaking all manner of nonsense."

Jon calmed, but still looked uncomfortable. "_Okay_, Daeron. I was going to rest but I can help clean this up if you'd like."

Arthur felt a small swell of pride. Even though Jon had been initially shocked, he dug deep and was willing to help. "No, that's alright. Ser Alliser is sending someone to take care of it."

Jon nodded, showing a faint sign of relief. "See you in the morn, Daeron." He turned and left before Arthur could reply. He laid on the cot and fell into a deep sleep. He never heard the man come to dispose of the body, but by the morn it was gone and the floor had only a faint red stain.

A letter came over a moon later, sealed by a glob of plain red wax. Arthur read the scroll and smiled.

_The wolf heads north to reveal secrets long hidden. He should arrive soon. Give reply if the boy has not taken his vows. If he hasn't, see that he doesn't, no matter the cost._

_A friend_

_Oh Lyanna, you never cease to amaze me, even from beyond the grave, _Arthur thought fondly. _I won't fail Jon, I promise._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Just for clarification, most of this chapter takes place before the events of the first two chapter, and the ending coincided with a part from Varys' chapter.


	4. Arya I

Atop a ten foot tall pedestal, Arya perched between the stone legs of Baelor the Blessed. She searched for any sign of her father but he wasn't there. _Maybe those boys lied? _A jolt of pain shot through her finger, searing hot and making her cry out; no one noticed, it was just more noise amongst the sea of people. She sucked the blood from her broken fingernail until the pain eased. _Stupid wagon . . ._ _Calm as still water_, she reminded herself. Arya decided to eavesdrop on the people below her to see if they might know where her father was.

_"Where's the Hand? Heard he was s'posed to be here," _ a woman whispered.

A fat man in a fine silk robe bellowed at her.  _"The Hand'll be here woman! No man can escape the judgement of the gods." _

_Escape? _ Arya hoped the words were true but she couldn't bring herself to believe them. She looked up at the group of people in front of the sept's pulpit. King Joffrey stood at the forefront scowling, his fat worm lips pursed and tapping his foot impatiently. His queen mother stood behind him, whispering back and forth with Varys the eunuch. Both were dressed in black, but she doubted either truly mourned King Robert. 

Arya ground her teeth to stop from screaming when she saw Sansa standing beside the queen. She wore a sky-blue silk dress with silver bracelets on her wrists, even her long auburn hair had been washed and curled. When Joffrey glanced back she would flash him a large smile and sometimes even blow a kiss. "Traitor!" Arya screamed, but the sound was drowned out by the thousands of voices around her.

A gold cloak walked up and spoke with Joffrey for a moment before leaving. Joffrey turned back to the crowd and smiled. "People of King's Landing! I bring you Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, traitor to the Houses Baratheon and Lannister." He gestured behind him after he was finished, still smiling.  _I'll wipe that smile from your face, King Joffrey._

A minute passed before two gold cloaks marched up the steps. Something was off, the two men approached Joffrey with helms in hand and their heads bowed. Whatever Joffrey was told infuriated him; he knocked their helms to the ground and ordered them to kneel.

"Good people . . ." The king sounded pitiful, as if he had lost his favorite toy. "It appears that these two men seek to commit treasons of their own. They have robbed us all of the justice we so deserved and I do not intend to see that go unpunished." When Joffrey spoke again, he was back to his arrogant, stupid self. "Ser Ilyn, bring me their heads!"

Ser Ilyn stepped forward, silent as the grave and grabbed one of the gold cloaks by the back of his mail. The man sobbed and shouted, cursing the gods, Joffrey, Cersei, and even Lord Stark. Ser Ilyn dropped the man on the block, drew his greatsword from its hilt, and looked back at Joffrey, who nodded. The sword arced through the air and came down on the gold cloak's neck; blood sprayed everywhere drenching the stairs in a dark crimson, flowing down across the cobbles. The head disappeared from Arya's sight until one of the smallfolk hoisted it up. The people began cheering. Great cries of "_Long live King Joffrey!_" and "_Death to the traitors!_" rang through the air.

_But where did Father go? He wouldn't leave me. _ Arya felt tears prick at her eyes but she willed them away.  _Fear cuts deeper than swords. _ The other gold cloak was on the block now, Ser Ilyn poised and ready to take the man's head. "Bastard King! Son of the Kingslayer!" the gold cloak shouted, stopping Ser Ilyn in his tracks.

Joffrey's smile withered and died on his pouty face. "Ser Ilyn, I shall see to this man myself." He stepped up next to the man and knelt, he said something but Arya couldn't make it out. The man began sobbing when Joffrey stood and turned to the crowd. "This man's name is Dolten and he has begged for the mercy of the gods and of his king. I have seen fit to grant him that. He shall be sent to the dungeons to await a proper trial where I shall decide his fate." Ser Ilyn and a stout man in black-and-gold armor grabbed Dolten by the arms and carried him away.

Joffrey smiled at Sansa. Arya's stomach rolled when her sister blew another kiss at the stupid king.  _How could she . . . _ Joffrey frowned and he turned back to the crowd. "I wanted to provide Lord Eddard with mercy . . . for the love my father bore him and at the request of my lady. I was foolish believing him to be the man of honor he so righteously claimed to be. There shall be no mercy given now; I shall give him the traitors death he deserves, you have my word." 

Arya's hand found Needle's grip hidden beneath her cloak.  _I've got your mercy here, Joffrey, come and get it. _ The king said some more pretty words in farewell but Arya paid them no mind, her vision was locked on her sister. Just as the king and his retinue started their exit, Sansa looked straight at her and squinted, then her mouth fell open. "ARYA!" she screamed and pointed and drew the king's attention.

"Get her! Get her now! I want her alive," the king bellowed. Gold cloaks began shoving their way through the crowd. Arya leapt from the pedestal, landed with a roll and took off. She darted between legs and through hands that made to grab her.  _Quick as a snake. _ She dodged a foot that tried to kick her, a meaty grasping hand and another foot before she burst free at the back of the crowd. She wouldn't let Joffrey take her. Flea Bottom was empty save for a few mangy dogs scavenging for scraps. She ran as fast as her legs would carry her, past the pot shop where she traded her pigeons and past the alleys where she would watch the kids play.

At the edge of Flea Bottom she hid in an alley and sat down to rest. Her legs ached something fierce and her breathing came hard and fast. She began to cry. She wanted Jon and Father, they would protect her.  _Jon'd kill Joffrey and Ser Ilyn and the Hound and save me from this damn city._

" _Arya Stark," _ a voice whispered from nearby. A skinny boy stepped into the alley. He was garbed in dirty brown cloth and stunk like a dead body. "Arya Stark, come with me." The boy spoke louder now and moved in front of her.

Arya wiped the tears from her face, stood up and put her hands on her hips. " _Why should I?_ "

The boy looked at her stupidly. "I'm to bring you to the wolf man."

_Wolf man? He must mean Father. _ Arya followed the boy hesitantly. She could kill him if need be, just like she did with the stable boy. They walked until they were on the other side of the city somewhere near the Mud Gate. The man awaiting her was not her father; he was tall and had dirty white hair, a thick white beard and he was smiling at her. The boy took off, leaving her alone with this strange man. Arya subtly reached beneath her cloak and fingered Needle's hilt. She would not let Joffrey take her alive. "Who are you? That boy said he was bringing me to the wolf man."

"It is okay, child. I am Ser Barristan Selmy and I'm going to take you to your father."

Arya drew her sword and backed away. "Your Joffrey's kingsguard. I won't let you take me back to him . . . I'll kill you if I m-must." Her voice gave way to the fear she felt.

Ser Barristan kneeled and looked her in the eyes. "On my honor as a knight, I am not here to take you back to the Red Keep. I no longer serve the Baratheons or the Lannisters. The only part of me they wish to see is my head and I assure you that I'd prefer to keep it just where it's at."

Arya sheathed her sword and cocked her head. "What's a knight doing in a robe and sandals? And where's your sword?"

Barristan chuckled. "A knight in hiding who wears armor? That knight would quickly find himself no longer in need of armor, if you take my meaning. Now we must be going, are you coming?" Arya grinned and nodded. The gold cloak who lost his head floated into her mind, the way his blood flowed down the steps like a red river. "Okay child, give me your blade and draw your cloak tight. Should the guards ask, tell them you are my son, but say nothing more."

Arya reluctantly unstrapped her sword and followed him towards the gate. She felt naked without Needle, even with her cloak pulled tight and the wooden sword still at her waist.  _Calm as still water. _ The gate had two gold cloaks standing guard, one tall and muscular with an iron hand and a longsword, the other was squat and fat with an iron cudgel at his waist. The man with the iron hand stepped forward and spoke with Barristan for a few moments before looking past him. "What's your name, boy?" 

Barristan sidestepped to block his view. "That's Arry, my son. Now may we go?" The man looked skeptical but nodded and moved out of their path. "Thank you, Ser."

They passed all sorts of ships as they walked down the harbor. There were the war galleys _King Robert's Hammer _and_ Seaswift._ There were trading galleys crewed by all manner of strange men, speaking languages Arya didn't understand. The _Lady Lyanna, _a ship named after Arya's aunt gave her an odd feeling, even though she had never met her. Ser Barristan stopped and pointed at a ship and she followed his finger. _The Wolf's Howl, _it was named and Arya couldn't help but giggle. The knight walked up onto the ship and she followed him, unsure. The ship was a trading galley and it looked sturdy enough but Arya still felt like something was amiss. She reached the deck and looked around, the crew seemed normal and the captain was by the helm, laughing with Ser Barristan. He pointed at Arya and the captain came to introduce himself. 

"Hello there. I am Repho of the Free City of Norvos, but people call me Wolfkisser. Would you like a kiss, little wolf?" The captain leaned forward and puckered his lips, making his thick black mustache quiver. He was a tall man and slender, dressed in a simple leather tunic and breeches with a silver ring on his left hand. Arya could smell rum on his breath, overwhelming the other smells of the harbor.

Ser Barristan walked up and pulled the captain upright. "Leave her alone," he ordered. "You'll frighten her."

He burst out laughing. "I forgot they never teach you Westerosi to remove that stick from your arse." The captain bowed. "My apologies, little lady. Welcome to  _The Wolf's Howl_ . She isn't much, but she'll get you home quick and safe." He turned back to Ser Barristan. "Where's that crow of yours? Like to get out of here before the Lannisters catch wind of us."

Barristan scowled. "Me as well. Hopefully soon. I'll show the lady to her quarters while we wait." Repho nodded and walked off towards the helm.

"Ser? What did the captain mean by a crow? Is that my father? Where is Father? You said you were taking me to him." Arya fired off the questions in short order not giving pause for reply.

"Not here, my lady." He walked towards a door that led below deck and Arya had no choice but to follow. The door opened into a small hallway, dimly lit by a lantern hanging from the ceiling. There was a large wooden door on the left wall and two smaller wooden doors to the right. Barristan walked to the end of the hall and held one of the smaller doors open for her.

Inside, the room was as large as her old chambers in the Tower of the Hand . . . or maybe it had been so long she no longer remembered them correctly. There was a featherbed with pillows that looked soft as clouds. Arya wanted nothing more than to lie down and take a long nap but she forced herself to keep looking around. The only other furnishing was a small dining table in the center of the room. On it sat a flagon of water and a bowl piled high with more fruit than Arya cared to name. She forgot about everything else in that moment and dashed across the room. She drank straight from the flagon and devoured two pears and an orange before remembering Ser Barristan was still in the room. "Sorry . . ." Arya's face flushed when she saw him smiling at her.

Barristan sat down across from her and poured a goblet of water. "It's quite alright, my lady. I can't imagine what you went through living alone in Flea Bottom. As to your questions, the crow that the captain spoke of is a brother of the Night's Watch named Yoren, he is bringing your sister along with his recruits."

" _Sansa!_ She almost got me caught with her big, stupid mouth. She's going to bring Joffrey and the whole city guard with her."  _How could they be so stupid? Sansa is a traitor. She'll let Joffrey take all our heads and blow him kisses while he does it._

"Don't fret, my lady. I'm sure your sister is only doing what she must to survive."

"I'm  _not _ a lady. My mother and sister are ladies, with all their pretty dresses and their pretty words. And I know my sister, she's obsessed with her little boy king. You'll learn soon enough. Now where is Father?"

"Your father awaits us on the shores near Rosby, my lady." Arya scowled, causing Ser Barristan to smile and raise his hands in surrender. "Once Yoren has loaded we'll depart and pick up Lord Stark on the morrow. These quarters are for you and your sister, the one next door will be for your father and the one cross the hall is Repho's. Never go in there unless the captain says otherwise."

"But what about you? Where are you staying?"

"I'll be staying on the deck with the crew, Yoren and his recruits. Should it rain, we shall sleep down in the cargo hold."

"That doesn't seem fair. You're the greatest knight who ever lived. You slayed Maelys Blackfyre in single combat, and you scaled the walls of Duskendale to save King Aerys. My brother Bran's obsessed with you. He always wanted to be just like you."

"Maybe one day I'll have the honor of meeting your brother . . ." Barristan paused and looked like he wanted to say something more. "Repho says this journey will take him barely over a week. I've slept in far worse for far longer than that," he stated before standing and starting towards the door.

"Ser Barristan!" Arya called out after him. "Give me back Needle . . .  _Please._ "

Barristan laughed, unstrapped Needle from his belt and set it on the bed. "Perhaps all this nonsense about wolf's blood has some truth to it."

Alone now, Arya shed her cloak, boots, and wooden sword then climbed into bed.  _I'll just rest for a little bit, _ she thought, stretching out.

A great wall of ice and rock stretched the landscape as far as Arya could see. She was still a ways off but it had to be the Wall, there was no other walls this huge in all the known world.  _Jon's here, just up ahead. _ The forest stretched endlessly around her. She only knew which way to go because of the Wall, towering over the treetops like men towered over bugs. Branches clawed at her dress and at her eyes, at her arms and at her legs. She tripped over an overgrown tree root and landed hard on her knees, but she struggled back to her feet and pressed on. Finally the forest thinned and she could see a wall up ahead; this one much smaller than the Wall, made from wood and iron, not ice and rock.  _Jon's in there, he's waiting for me. _

When Arya reached the gate she yelled for someone to let her in, but no voice gave reply. The walls had been charred and recently by the look of it; smoke still drifted in some places carrying embers off like lightning bugs into the night. "HELLO! LET ME IN! SOMEONE! . . . ANYONE!" She waited a few minutes but still no one came. Helpless, Arya began to beat on the gate, crying out for Jon.  _What if Jon's dead? What if they're all dead? _ A rustling came from the forest. Arya turned to see a half dozen lions emerging from the forest, all bearing down on her. She tried to draw Needle only to find it wasn't strapped to her waist. The lions encircled her only thirty feet away and closing fast.  _Father? Jon? Robb? Where are you?_

The lion at the head was only fifteen feet away. His mane and fur were streaked with grey and his eyes burned red with hatred, fresh blood dripping from his teeth and claws. Arya fell against the gate as she tried to back away; the heavy wood fell to the ground with a  _crash_ . She stumbled into the keep and looked around for a possible escape. All around the buildings had been burnt and were in various stages of destruction. A lone tower remained untouched, which seemed odd to Arya but she was past caring; the lions were close on her heels. The door was closed at the top of a small set of stairs.  _Come on Arya, you can do this, _ Jon's voice spoke in her head. Five feet stood between her and the door.  _Four feet . . . _ the lions broke into a run.  _Three feet_ . . . One of the lions roared, it was entirely gold, even its eyes glowed gold.  _Two feet_ . . . Something stirred behind the door but it was too late to turn back.  _One foot_ . . . The old lion lunged, sailing through the air as Arya yanked open to door . . . 

_BOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMM_

The tower exploded, sending Arya and the lions flying backwards. Arya sailed over the lions and landed in mud, rolling several feet before coming to a stop at the far wall. The tower was gone, only wood and stone strewn across the yard stood as proof that it had ever existed. The lions were already back on their feet, but they had no interest in Arya any longer, their eyes were locked on something in the sky. Wind whipped at Arya's face as she struggled to follow the lions' gaze. Finally she was able to see what had their attention. An all white dragon hovered above the keep. He was the largest living thing she had ever seen, easily sixty foot long, yet she wasn't frightened; in fact, she felt an odd sort of comfort in its presence. It swooped down and landed on the catwalk above the gate, its red eyes shifting like a live fire. The lions roared and snarled and bared their teeth but the dragon stood unfazed, watching them from his perch. "Help me!" Arya shouted at the dragon. It looked at her and smiled, at least, it looked like it smiled. The dragon turned away and bared its teeth at the lions. The fire building within its throat threw off waves of heat like a forge. All but the old lion fled into the forest. It disappeared within a thick stream of white and red flames. When the flames stopped all that remained of the lion was bone and the charred flesh that remained upon it.

The dragon leapt from the catwalk and the already fire-weakened structure collapsed filling the yard with ash and smoke. When it cleared, Arya opened her eyes to see the dragon staring at her, its huge nose only a few inches away. "Quite the entrance you made . . ." The dragon snorted, blowing out warm air that surrounded Arya like a thick blanket. She reached out to touch its snout and as she did the dragon changed into her half-brother, Jon. He offered her a hand, which she readily took and leapt into his arms. "I missed you Jon . . . We're coming to the Wall, you know? Me and father and even Sansa . . . Oh, and Ser Barristan, he's coming too."

Jon set her down and smiled warmly. "Yes, little cousin, the direwolf and the dragon must fight as one if we are to prevail over the lions."

_Cousin? _ "What do you mean? You're my brother."

Jon's smile became grim and he turned away, walking off through the ruins.

Arya tried to chase after him but her legs grew stiff as iron and she fell face first towards the ground. The ground changed into wooden boards and she slammed into it with a loud  _thump_ . 

Ser Barristan rushed into the room and knelt beside her. "Are you okay, my la- Arya?"

He offered her a hand but she slapped it away and stood. "I'm  _fine_ . What's going on out there?" Footsteps could be heard running back and forth across the deck, and occasionally someone shouted.

"I fear it is as you said . . . your sister refused to go with Yoren. He barely escaped the Hound on his way out. Him and the recruits are loading up supplies as quick as they can. I came to give you the news when I heard you fall."

Arya couldn't help but laugh. She had warned Ser Barristan and he had dismissed the notion. Sansa was still as obsessed with her stupid little king as the day she first saw him. She paid Ser Barristan no mind as she slipped back into her boots and strapped Needle at her waist.  _I'll die before I let Joffrey or Cersei or anybody keep me from getting away. _ Arya left the quarters and saw the crew running about loading crates filled with gods know what. There was a new group of men, more rough looking than the crew, scurrying about as a man dressed in all black shouted at them.  _That must be Yoren . . ._ He turned towards Arya and recognition flashed in his hard eyes. "What the fuck is  _she_ doing out here! Get her back below!"

"Come along, Arya. We're not needed up here." She huffed but followed Ser Barristan back to her quarters.

They sat opposite one another for several minutes before curiosity drove Arya to speak. "Ser Barristan?"

"Yes?"

Arya shifted in her seat, the dream was unsettling, it had felt real . . . but it couldn't be true.  _Jon's no skinchanger. _ "I had a dream . . . I was at Castle Black. At least I think it was Castle Black, I've never been there but the Wall was behind it. These lions attacked me and this dragon saved me. He was all white with eyes like a roaring fire and he burnt the old lion alive. Then he turned to me and became my brother Jon, he's a brother of the Night's Watch. But then . . . he called me  _little cousin _ and said something about dragons and direwolves fighting together, then he just left and I woke up."

Ser Barristan paled and began muttering softly.  _Wolfs blood _ and _ king _ and  _Jon _ was all Arya could make out. He stood and left without another word. Arya could hear footsteps in the hall, pacing back and forth.  _It was just a dream. Only fools take dreams for truth_ . She grabbed an apple and climbed into bed, relishing the softness of it after living in Flea Bottom for so long.  _At least I won't have to share with Sansa_ . Before long Arya began to sob, thinking of her sister. At some point the boat shoved off, but she never heard it. She cried until her eyes ran dry and then just laid there for hours before passing out.

The captain invited her to dine with him the next morning. His quarters had a large bed, big enough for at least five people. There were cushioned couches and a dining table made from red wood that she didn't know the name of. On the table were plates and plates of food; bacon and steaming trout, baked bread with raisins and coated in honey, a goose roasted with garlic and lemon, and a basket of fresh fruits. Arya forgot all her courtesies, not that she ever cared much about courtesy, and dug in. Repho just laughed and dug in as well. Arya let out a large burp after finishing a piece of the honeyed bread. Her cheeks flushed and she covered her mouth, but again he only laughed and kept eating.

"Captain?"

Repho set aside the goose leg and wiped his mouth. "What is it, little wolf?"

"Ser Barristan . . . I told him of this dream I had and he's been acting funny since."

Repho's eyes fluttered and he leaned closer. "What did you dream of, little wolf?"

"I dreamt I was at the Wall, and a dragon saved me from these lions. Then . . ." She paused, unsure if she should continue.

"Go on," he urged. "There is no need to fear your dreams, little wolf."

"Then . . . the dragon turned into Jon and he called me  _little cousin_ . But we're not cousins, you see. He's my brother . . ." She began to tear up.

Repho rounded the table and laid a hand on her shoulder. "There there, it is okay . . . I cannot claim to know what your dream meant, but I do know this. Dreams are fickle things, a passing fancy if you will, and can mean anything . . . or can mean nothing. I would not let it trouble you, little wolf. By midday your lord father will be safely aboard and he will likely have some insight to your woes. As for our dear old Ser, he worries far too much, and believes in far too many stories for my liking." He guided her from the chair and towards the door. "Now go enjoy the day, my men will keep you safe should any of the crow's men find themselves lacking in the wit to leave you be."

The wind had remained steady at their stern all night, so the oarsmen lounged in their benches and chatted quietly. Most didn't even look up as Arya passed, the ones who did only offered a nod and went back to relaxing. Not that she minded, she preferred being ignored to all the bending and scraping and  _my lady's _ that came with being a Stark. A boy stood at the front of the ship, exactly where she had been planning to watch for her father from. He was staring out to sea, whistling a tune to himself that sounded suspiciously like 'The Bear and the Maiden Fair'. She watched him for a bit; he had big muscular arms, and thick black hair and he was much taller than her. There was a steel helm, shaped like a bull's head tucked between his feet. 

"Hey you!" she called to the boy.

" _Gods_ , why can't a man get some peace on this bloody ship? Yoren said . . ." His sentence cut off when he turned to see who had spoken. He dropped to one knee. "M'lady . . . I beg your forgiveness. I should not have spoken in such a way."

Arya scowled and stuck out her tongue. "What's your problem? I'm just a  _girl_ . Call me Arya. What's your name?"

The boy just bowed his head. "Master Mott taught me my courtesies around highborns, he did. I'm to bend the knee, and bow my head, and always call you by m'lord or m'lady. You are Arya Stark of Winterfell, m'lady high."

" _Fine_ , don't tell me your name." Arya pushed the stupid boy onto his arse and moved past to the end of the ship. "Just stay out of my way if you're going to be stupid. And I'm no  _lady_ , I'm a wolf."

The boy laughed as he stood up and brushed himself off. "Never known a lady to speak like that. My name's Gendry, if it pleases m'lady."

Arya turned back and stuck out her tongue again. "I told  _you_ I'm not a lady. This helmet . . . is it yours? Did you make it yourself?" She picked up the bull's head helmet and handed it to Gendry.

"Yes, m'lady. I made it myself." He shifted uncomfortably, and he kept glancing at the crew as if he expected them to pull their knives and gut him at any moment.

" _Stop calling me m'lady_ ," she hissed.

Gendry took a half step back. "Would that I could . . .  _M'lady._ " The last word came out as a whisper, so soft that Arya could barely hear it. 

" _Fine _ . . . Go away stupid. I want to be alone anyways." 

"As m'lady commands." He bowed and all but ran away.

She looked out to the bay, and then further still, hoping to catch a glimpse of father waiting along the shore.  _I lied to that boy . . . I don't want to be alone, not truly. I want Father and Mother. I want Jon and Robb and Bran and Rickon and even Sansa, despite how stupid she is. I miss my family . . . _ She fought off the tears that threatened to fall.  _I'm done crying. I'm going home._

"Shouldn't be speakin' to my men, wolf girl." A gruff voice called out from behind her. She turned to see Yoren staring down at her coldy.

"Why shouldn't I? Gendry seems harmless enough."

Yoren spat over the rail into the bay. "Listen here and listen well. Half those men would gladly turn you and your father over to the Lannisters quick as spit for a pardon. The other half would do the same but they'd rape ya first. Now, I'll grant that Gendry is harmless enough, but you'll steer clear of him all the same."

"Why should I listen to you? They're to be men of the Night's Watch like you, and like Jon. They wouldn't dare touch me."

"There's no little lordlings in this bunch like Lord Snow. Make no mistake, wolf girl. They'll be men of the Night's Watch, that's unavoidable, but you're a fool to believe they won't touch you, given half a chance."

Arya scowled, she was tired of people trying to protect her like she was a delicate flower. "What do you know? You couldn't even get my sister out of the city like you were supposed to."

Yoren spat and looked out at the bay. He looked almost sad, which made Arya feel bad for the black brother. She wanted to say something, but no words came to her. "There's your father." Yoren pointed to a spot along the beach. "I'll tell the captain." He left without ever saying a word about Sansa, which made Arya feel worse.

Half an hour later the ship anchored off shore and a skiff was sent to pick up her father. Arya had tried to go with them, but Repho said it wasn't safe and to wait onboard. Naturally, she ignored him and tried to stow away. One of the crew caught her hiding beneath the rowing benches and forced her to stay behind, so she just watched from the rail.

"Arya!" her father shouted when he climbed on board. She dashed into his waiting arms and he stood up and spun them around. His clothes were dirty and he smelled funny, and he was thinner than she remembered, but he was here, safe and sound.

"I missed you father," she said against his shoulder. "I thought Joffrey was going to kill you."

Ned set her down and smiled warmly. "Me too, Arya. Me too." He looked around and his smile fell away. "Where is your sister?" Arya stared at her feet, unsure what to say. Ned turned to Yoren, who was standing nearby. "Where is Sansa?"

"She wouldn't come, Lord Stark. Even began to scream for guards. I had to run or I wouldn't be standing here now. Had to leave behind the men I was s'posed to get from the black cells to escape the boy's dog."

Ser Barristan stepped forward. "Lord Stark, I'm sure Yoren did all he could to bring Lady Sansa to you."

Ned still looked grim but he stepped forward and shook hands with both men. "I have no doubts of that, Ser Barristan. I thank you both for what you have done for me and mine. It will not be soon forgotten. Now if you'll excuse me, I haven't had a proper bath in several moons. After, I'd like to speak to both of you privately, if I could."

"Of course, Lord Stark, we have much to talk about," Ser Barristan said. Yoren nodded and walked off.

Repho stepped forward with a large grin. "Lord Wolf!" He took Ned's hand and shook it heartily. "It is a great honor for you to be aboard my humble ship. I am Repho of the Free City of Norvos, captain of The Wolf's Howl. If you'll follow me, there is a bath and a hot meal waiting in your quarters."

"Thank you, captain, you are doing my House a great service. You will be greatly rewarded when I return to Winterfell, I assure you. If you'll allow me a moment with my daughter, I'll gladly take you up on both afterwards."

"Of course, Lord Stark. Take all the time you require." Repho turned away and began shouting orders at his men to make ready to sail. Ser Barristan stood nearby, completely silent.

Ned knelt and pulled Arya into another hug. "I worried for you night and day while I was imprisoned. Are you okay? What happened to you after I was . . .?"

Arya wiggled out of his hug. "I'm fine, father. I lived in the city until a boy found me and brought me to Ser Barristan.  _Sansa_ . . . she . . .  _she_ betrayed us. She almost got me caught by the stupid Lannisters."

Ned sighed and took Arya by the shoulders. "Your sister is in love. And when you love someone very much, it can blind you to who they truly are. She is still your sister and she still cares for you."

Arya turned away from him. "If that's what love is . . . then I want no part of it. Stupid Sansa can keep her stupid king and have his stupid babies. I am a wolf." She smirked and wrinkled her nose. "You smell."

Ned chuckled and stood up. "I agree . . . that I smell. After I've bathed and spoken with Yoren and Ser Barristan, we can talk some more in your room, if you'd like?."

Arya nodded. "Promise?"

"Aye, I promise." Ned smiled and went to find the captain, leaving Arya to head back to her quarters alone. She tried to sit at the table, but she quickly became too restless and started pacing the length of her room. Sound started drifting through the wall that separated them. Arya pressed her ear to the wall, hoping to hear something, anything, but the voices were too muffled. She couldn't even be certain who was all there. At one point she could've sworn she heard that boy, Gendry.  _Why would Father want to talk to some stupid boy? I hope he's not in trouble for talking to me . . . _ A door opened and two pairs of footsteps could be heard walking back onto the deck. Arya backed up, expecting her father to come in any second, but the voices started up again. After a time, one of them started shouting, then a door slammed and more footsteps could be heard walking away. Arya got back to the table just as Ned knocked on her door. 

"Arya, it's father. Can I come in?"

"Yes."

Ned crossed the room and sat opposite her.  _He looks angry_ , she observed.  _I hope I'm not in trouble for talking to that boy._ "Ser Barristan tells me you had a rather strange dream. One about Jon . . ."

"Yes, father. Jon was a dragon and he . . . he saved me from these lions. I tried talking to Ser Barristan about it, but he started acting strange and wouldn't speak about it again. We were at Castle Black, at least, I think it was Castle Black, I've never been there so I don't know for certain . . . "

Ned's jaw was set and he had gone pale, just like Ser Barristan had.

"Please don't be mad at me . . . I'm sorry I talked to that boy. I won't do it again . . . Promise . . ."

Ned looked confused for a moment and then his face visibly relaxed. "No, no, Arya. You're not in trouble, though it isn't polite to eavesdrop. What did you hear?"

Arya blushed. "I didn't hear anything . . .  _I swear_ . The voices were all muffled. You came in here looking mad, is all. I only thought I heard Gendry . . . and I thought you were punishing him for talking to me."

"No . . . me and Ser Barristan had a disagreement. About your dream."

Now it was Arya's turn to look confused. "What do you mean? It was only a strange dream. Dreams aren't real."

Ned sighed. "Real or not, the timing of such a dream . . . Ser Barristan seems to think that it is a sign that you must accompany us to retrieve Jon. To make him see . . ." He drifted off and stared at the wall.

"Why wouldn't I go with you? I want to see Jon too. And what do you mean, retrieve Jon? He's a man of the Night's Watch, he can't just leave."

"Arya . . . it's not that simple. I wanted to stop at White Harbor and arrange for an escort to take you home before continuing on to Eastwatch, but this dream . . . I don't know what to make of it."

Tears welled in her eyes but she forced them away.  _Calm as still water_ . "But Jon called me his  _little cousin_ . That's not true, so the rest isn't true either. And you're not leaving me at White Harbor or anywhere else, Jon is my brother. If you're going to see him, then so am I." Arya crossed her arms across her chest, to prove how serious she was.

Ned gritted his teeth and said nothing. His left hand clenched and unclenched atop the table. Arya had a feeling that should she check under the table, his right hand would be doing much the same. After a few moments, his hand relaxed and he laid it down flat. "There's something you need to know, Arya." Try as she might, there was no stopping the tears that came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Hope you enjoyed!


	5. Sansa I

Joffrey said that the city was dangerous for little girls, and he promised that he would protect her. The gold cloaks failed to find her, and Joffrey wrote her off as likely dead, but Sansa hadn't believed it. So when she saw Arya on the statue of Baelor the Blessed, she screamed and pointed and made sure Joffrey saw. _Why would you run? Joffrey only wants to protect you._ The smallfolk could be seen grabbing at her but they always came up empty. Arya's long brown hair, all matted and tangled, dashed between legs and past arms until it disappeared out the back of the crowd. _You're running the wrong way, Arya!_ She waited and waited, but there was no sign of her.

"My lady, we will await the gold cloaks report in the Red Keep. Your sister will be found and brought to me, I promise." The voice attempted to appear calm, but she could tell Joffrey was becoming impatient.

She turned back to him and smiled, even though all she felt at this moment was worried. That worry melted away when he smiled back at her. "Of course, Your Grace. My sincerest apologies for delaying our trip back as long as I have. We can depart at once, if it please you."

"Yes, mother has been complaining for some time about the heat." He turned away and offered Sansa his arm, which she gladly took. "The gold cloaks are scouring the city for her, and messengers have been sent to all of the gates, instructing them not to permit anyone to leave until Arya is found. I've also sent Littlefinger ahead to set a reward of one hundred gold dragons for the man who brings her to the Red Keep. There is nowhere she can hide." He helped her into the litter and mounted his horse.

Lord Varys and Queen Cersei were already waiting inside. Both looked sweaty and uncomfortable; The queen's golden hair was limp and clung to her head, and Varys was fanning himself as sweat trickled off his brows. Sansa felt sorry for them. They had been forced to wait out in this heat while Arya ran away from the people who wanted to protect her. "I'm sorry for making you wait in this heat. It's just . . . I thought Arya lost."

Varys smiled at her, clear pity in his eyes. "With your father committing such vile treason and your own sister vanishing, it is a wonder you are able to get out of bed each day. Having the strength to be steadfast in your commitment to our beloved king in the midst of such trying times is a testament to us all." Cersei scoffed, but Varys continued, "And so soon after our good King Robert's death. So tragic . . . Then for little Arya to be so close and yet, out of reach again. I should like to apologize to you, my lady. Were the day not quite so hot, I would gladly have stood with you until your dear sister was returned."

"Thank you, my lord. You are most kind to say so. I only wish for my sister to be safe under the protection of Joffrey once more. She is still so young and likely does not understand the treason my lord father has committed against the king."

"If your sister is as innocent as you say, why would she run?" Cersei asked pointedly, but she left no room for reply. "More likely that Lord Eddard trusted Arya more than you, wild little wolf that she is."

Sansa had never thought of it that way. _Could Father have really trusted Arya more than me? It's possible . . . Father had always encouraged Arya's wildness. They did both run away from Joffrey . . . Why had Father escaped? Joffrey promised him mercy. _"I wanted to provide Lord Eddard with mercy . . . for the love my father bore him and at the request of my lady," Joffrey had said before the whole city, but her father had ran away. _He also said that he would give Father the traitors death he deserved, _a voice reminded her. _But he was just angry, _Sansa argued. _When the time comes I can convince him to show mercy, just like I did before._ Sansa looked out the window of the litter and saw Joffrey riding beside them. He sat upon a grey palfrey, his beautiful golden curls bouncing with each step. _He's so dreamy. _

"Who pray tell is this he, my lady?"

Sansa closed the curtain on the litter and turned dark red. "It's nothing . . . I mean, obviously it's something. But . . . it's just that His Grace looks exquisite today. I mean . . . King Joffrey looks exquisite everyday, of course. I was just watching him and thinking that he looks quite resplendent is all. I beg your pardon, I did not mean to say so aloud."

Varys giggled. "It is quite alright. Young love is such a wonder to behold. Wouldn't you say so, my queen?"

Cersei smirked. "Yes . . . _Young love _really is quite something." She turned away and looked outside. "Oh look, we're here."

Sansa peaked out of the curtains as they passed beneath the portcullis. Varys and the queen left first, each heading off in different directions. When Sansa made to exit, a hand appeared in the entryway, and then a head followed. _Such a beautiful head, _Sansa appraised to herself, at least, she hoped she had kept that thought from being said aloud. His loose curls hung down over his eyes and the golden crown atop his head shined in the afternoon sun. "My lady," he said, offering his hand.

"Thank you, Your Grace." Joffrey helped her out and then intertwined their arms.

"Of course, my lady. I wanted to speak with you, in fact, about all the unpleasantness today at the Sept of Baelor." Joffrey stopped and turned to look at her. "Not now, though. Now I must see that man, Dolten, I think his name was. Tonight is when we shall speak. You shall dine with me this evening, and then after we'll walk the walls and talk. Would you like that, my lady?"

Sansa fought off the urge to nod her head vigorously, giving her reply in a courteous fashion instead. "Yes, Your Grace, I would most enjoy that."

Joffrey flashed a bright easy smile that made her tummy flutter pleasantly. "I would imagine so. Go back to your chamber and freshen up. I will send Ser Meryn to retrieve you when it is time. Would you like an escort?"

She knew he would not escort her himself, but she could hardly blame him. Kings are busy men, and today had no doubt left much to be done. That meant the Hound was most likely going to be her escort, but to refuse would be discourteous. "An escort would be most welcome, my king. Thank you."

"Dog!" Joffrey yelled, and Sandor Clegane appeared, seemingly out of the shadows.

"Yes, Your Grace?" he asked in his rough, raspy voice. Sandor Clegane, commonly known as the Hound, was a huge man, almost as large as his elder brother, Ser Gregor. He may even have been called handsome, if it weren't for the burns on his face. The left side of his face was burned black, fissured with cracks that gleamed red and wet. He had a rough voice, and he acted even rougher, but he was not truly cruel, unlike his brother.

"Escort my lady back to her chambers. Wait there until Ser Meryn retrieves her."

"Yes, Your Grace." Sandor nodded. "_I'll take the little bird back to her cage,_" he muttered. Joffrey had not noticed, but Sansa heard him clearly.

"I shall see you this evening, my lady." Joffrey walked off before she could give reply.

The Hound grunted beside her. "Come along, little bird."

Sansa followed him silently, too excited to try and attempt conversation. _Joffrey wants to dine with me! Ah, I can't believe it! And a walk afterwards as well . . . How did I get so lucky as to have the favor of such a man? _

_Because you betrayed our lord father_, Arya's voice spoke to her. _He tried to protect us and you told the queen his plans and would have gotten him killed if he hadn't escaped. _

"_No_ . . . _I didn't,_" she whispered.

_"Didn't_ _what?"_

"Nothing, I was just thinking . . ."

The Hound barked out a laugh. "Best leave off that thinking. Better to be an empty-headed little bird in a place like this."

"You are most unkind to say so." She scrambled for more words but came up empty.

"_Unkind, _am I? Maybe so. But there are much worse than me. Wait and see, little bird, you'll find out soon enough."

Sansa just ignored him and went back to her thoughts. _Joffrey was going to give Father mercy, Arya, he was . . . but Father ran and so did you. I never betrayed anyone. It was Father who tried to steal me away from Joffrey, and you that ran at the sight of me. I love Joffrey, and he loves me. If only Father had seen that . . . maybe things might've been different. _Sansa pushed the thoughts from her head as they began to climb the steps in the Tower of the Hand. Joffrey said that he had planned to move her into Maegor's Holdfast, but for now she still slept in her old chambers. The Hound held the door open for her. Sansa remembered her courtesies and thanked him for escorting her, but he only grunted and shut the door behind her. The entry chamber was eerily silent, and her bedmaids were nowhere to be seen. _Strange . . . _

A noise came from inside the bedchamber and Sansa decided to investigate. _It's just one of the bedmaids. That's all . . . _She opened the door and walked inside. Everything was in its place . . . but something seemed off. There was no one inside, not that she could see, so she turned to walk out.

The door shut as Sansa walked towards it. A man clad all in black rushed forward and clamped his hand over her mouth in the blink of an eye. She shrieked and cried but the glove muffled the sounds so it only came out as murmurs. She kicked at his legs and bit at his hand but the man held fast. "Listen here, wolf girl. I'm not here to hurt ya, but you can't be screaming or that big brute'll stop us." He put his other hand beneath her chin and forced her to meet his eyes, almost gently. He was stooped and ugly, with a twisted shoulder. His thick black hair and beard were matted, and he smelled foul. And yet, Sansa felt a odd sort of kindness was there, beneath the rough appearance. "I'm Yoren of the Night's Watch. I was sent to bring you to your father. Do you promise not to scream if I let you go?"

Sansa thought for a moment, then gave a small nod. Yoren removed his hand and Sansa took a few deep breaths to calm her frantically beating heart. "Why would my father send you? He ran like a craven from his punishment. Joffrey was going to give him mercy . . . and he just _ran._"

The black brother stepped away and sat down. "Why would you think that, child? Your father has always been a just and honorable man, best as I can tell. The boy king would've taken his head, like as not." Yoren let out a bark of laughter, frightening her. "Though there is _worse _ways for a man to die, I suppose. Perhaps a clean execution is a mercy, where that _boy _is concerned."

It couldn't be true, she wouldn't believe this man over her Joffrey. _He promised mercy . . . Why would he lie? _"You don't know what your talking _about_. Joffrey wouldn't . . . _He wouldn't!" _Her voice rose with each word until she was practically yelling.

Yoren stood and put his ear to the door. Several moments passed before he turned to her. "_You really think he cares. _You should count yourself lucky that Lord Stark escaped when he did, else you'd have learned the hard way how merciful your little boy king is._"_

"He is," she protested.

"A cruel, weak, stupid little boy." He spoke as if to finish her sentence.

"Why should I believe you? I don't even know _you_. You could be working for the queen, sent here to test my commitment to my beloved Joffrey."

Yoren laughed in earnest now. "_Me . . . _work for the queen. If only I were getting paid to risk my damned life. No, little wolf, I'd sooner die than work for the lions. A man sent me here, Rugen his name was, a gaoler guarding your father. Don't know what interest he'd have setting Lord Stark free, but that's none of my concern. Now we must be going."

Sansa processed all that he said. _Who is Rugen? Why would he free my father? _She knew none of the answers to her questions, but she knew one thing; she didn't believe Joffrey to be cruel and weak. He was just and brave and gallant just like a king should be. Perhaps he could be perceived as a _little_ harsh at times, but that was only because no one knew him, not like she did. _I didn't let Father take me away, and he ran like a craven. Why would I let a man I don't even know separate me from my Joffrey? _"I won't go with you. Joffrey isn't what you say. _He isn't!"_

"Don't be a fool. Quiet down and come with me. You'll be safely in the arms of your father before sundown on the morrow, I swear it."

"I won't! I won't! I WON'T! I WON'T!" she screamed over and over, louder and louder.

"Damn you, little wolf."

The Hound burst into the room with his longsword drawn and took in the situation, then lunged at Yoren. The black brother barely had time to draw his own sword before the Hound was on him. Sandor swung hard and fast, his sword a blur as he pushed Yoren closer and closer towards the wall. Somehow, he kept up, but only just. The Hound was bigger and faster and far stronger, and he was getting slower with each parry.

In his haste to backstep a thrust, Yoren tripped and fell hard on his backside. The Hound rushed forward and kicked away his sword. "Yield _old man, _and I won't kill you."

The Hound lowered his longsword and Yoren held himself up by an elbow and spat. "Rather die here than on my knees in front of some king, if ya don't mind."

"Don't mind at all," Sandor rasped out. He raised his sword above his head, ready to strike a blow so fierce it would likely split Yoren's head in two. But the blow never came to be, much to Sansa's shock and The Hound's rage. A dress flew up and tangled itself around the Hound's head, only after did she realize Yoren had thrown it. Sandor dropped his blade and stumbled backwards. Sansa rushed to help but by the time the dress was off Yoren had vanished.

"Stay here!" the Hound commanded before rushing from the room. Sansa wept, though she couldn't say why. Sometime later, Ser Meryn came and instructed her to bathe and dress. He left as well, and then her two bedmaids were there, washing and dressing her, though she hardly noticed. She felt empty, but when she tried to figure out why she felt that way, there was only more emptiness. _Why did I scream?_ _He wanted to help, and I nearly got him killed. Maybe I did betray Father after all . . . _Ser Meryn was back now to escort her to the queen but Sansa remained lost in her thoughts. _No! They wanted to take me away. My place is here in King's Landing, at Joffrey's side. I just need to see Joffrey_, she resolved. 

When she snapped out of her head, Ser Meryn was gone. She looked around and realized she was no longer in her chambers but in the queen's solar. _When did I get here? _"Sansa dear, come and sit." The queen was seated at her desk, looking dreadfully concerned. Varys and Littlefinger stood behind her. Both looked as concerned as the queen, maybe even more so. _I'm, alright. I just need to see Joffrey_, she wanted to say, but she took the seat opposite Cersei instead.

"Are you all right, Sansa? The Hound told us what happened . . . did the man hurt you? Should we send for the Grand Maester?" Cersei reached out and took her hands. They were soft and warm, and made Sansa feel safe.

"No . . . he didn't hurt me. He wanted to take me away." She began to cry. "Just like Father did . . . he said Joffrey was cruel and weak and that he was never going to give Father mercy, like he promised. I didn't know what to do, so I screamed until the Hound came and saved me."

Cersei gave her hands a gentle squeeze and smiled. "Everything is okay now, Sansa. That man is a liar and a criminal and will be brought justice for speaking such treason against his king. He was likely just a common brigand, hoping to ransom you back to the Stark's. But that's no matter, the gold cloaks have been sent out with his description, there is no escape for him. Now, are you sure you're alright? Do you need anything? Your things are being moved into your new chambers in Maegor's as we speak."

"Wait . . . aren't the gold cloaks looking for Arya? Has she been found? You _have _to find her . . ."

Cersei frowned and released Sansa's hands. Varys _tsked _at her, looking disappointed. "_Sansa_," the queen gritted out. "Your sister ran from _us_. The gold cloaks have searched for hours to no avail. But as it were, there was some information that came in about your sister. Varys, tell her."

"Yes, my queen. A report came back from the River Gate." He pulled a scroll from his robe and unrolled it before continuing. "Ser Jacelyn Bywater, captain of the River Gate states that an elderly man and a young boy that somewhat matched the description of young Arya passed through the gate today. It is my belief that the elderly man may have been Ser Barristan, possibly trying to buy favor with the Starks by bringing them the girl. Ser Barristan also may have been the one to free your father, he does have extensive knowledge of the keep."

Sansa shook her head. "No, the man said it was a gaoler named Rugen who set Father free. He wasn't sure why, but he was certain that it was this Rugen who did it. And he said his name was . . ." She paused, unsure. The man had wanted to take her away, so why should she protect him? _I just need to see Joffrey._ "Yoren of the Night's Watch," she said at last.

The three of them shared a look, but it was Varys who spoke. "I know of this Rugen. He was appointed as a gaoler during the reign of King Aerys. An inhospitable man, if tales are to be believed. No friends, never drinks or whores and a most dutiful gaoler. This Yoren . . . being a brother of the Night's Watch, it is almost inconceivable that he would attempt to kidnap Lady Sansa, but perhaps he was in on this escape plot of the Starks."

Cersei sighed and drained her glass of wine, poured another, and then drained it as well. "Varys, go find Vylarr and the two of you scour Rugen's chamber. Top to bottom, and make it quick. If he's not there we'll need to set a search for him as well. But before you go, do you know anything of this _Yoren_?"

"Only a small amount is known to me about Yoren after he joined the Night's Watch, and nothing about the man before." Cersei gestured impatiently for him to continue as she refilled her glass and drank deep. "He works as a wandering crow for the Night's Watch, a recruiter if you will. He has been in that position for decades and has come to King's Landing several times. He has passed through Winterfell many times on his journeys to and from the Wall. Nothing else is known to me, my queen. If truth be told, he never seemed a person of interest so he was not closely watched."

Cersei scoffed. "Yes well, now he has broken into the keep and attempted to kidnap Lady Sansa. Now be gone, and don't return until you've found something. Tear out every stone in that gaoler's cell if you must, but _don't _return empty-handed."

Varys bowed and left, and the three remaining sat silent; Cersei drank glass after glass with barely a pause, Littlefinger stared intently at Sansa, and Sansa wished she could leave. The silence was finally broken by Joffrey barging into the room unannounced. "What do you want, _Mother_? I was dealing with that prisoner from today."

Cersei beckoned him to sit, and he grudgingly complied. "Joffrey dear, Lady Sansa was attacked in her chamber. It was a man of the Night's Watch, the one who came before you at court. He attempted to kidnap her and would've succeeded had it not been for Sansa herself, and the Hound."

Joffrey scowled. "Why would some smelly old man want to steal _her_?"

Littlefinger was the one to give reply. "Your Grace, it appears the man was in league with two others in a plot for Lord Stark and his daughters to escape. There was a gaoler who helped Lord Stark escape, and a man we believe to be Ser Barristan who escaped with the girl, Arya. This Night's Watchman seems to have been the one tasked with kidnapping Sansa and smuggling her from the city."

"_So is he dead_?" Joffrey asked impatiently.

"No . . . the Hound says the man used trickery to blind him and escape. We are searching for him now, but there has been nothing as of yet."

"Worthless _dog_!" Joffrey punched the desk.

Cersei moved around the desk and grasped both his hands in her own. "Joffrey, my sweet, don't let this trouble you. Varys is searching the gaoler's chamber with Vylarr right now, they'll surely turn up some clue. And the man has nowhere to run. Why don't you take Lady Sansa for a walk while her new chambers are being prepared?"

Joffrey pushed up from his chair. "I'm not troubled, _Mother_. I want the gaoler and the old man brought to me once they're found. I'll deal with them myself. Come, Lady Sansa, let's go on that walk." He didn't wait for a reply before he strode out.

Sansa had to walk briskly to catch up with Joffrey. She had thought about running, but that would be unladylike. He offered his arm when she caught up, but he didn't speak or look at her. They climbed the serpentine steps, crossed the middle bailey and went under the portcullis into the outer yard. Sansa tried to speak with him, twice on the steps, another two times as they crossed the bailey and once more as they walked beneath the portcullis, but each time he just ignored her and kept walking. Finally, he stopped in front of a wall and turned back to her. "Do you know why I brought you here?"

Joffrey spoke like she should know the answer, but when she tried to figure it out, she only got more confused. "No, Your Grace. Why did you bring me here?"

Joffrey tapped his foot impatiently and pointed at the wall behind him. Sansa missed what he meant at first, but then she saw _it_. There was a man suspended from the wall by a length of rope beneath his arm. There was a crossbow quarrel protruding from his bowels, and he had been stripped naked. _Oh gods . . . _Sansa tried to back away but Joffrey had moved behind her. He held her firmly and _forced _her head up to look at the man. At first glance he had appeared dead, but now she noticed his arm twitching weakly and his mouth occasionally opened slightly before shutting again. Blood leaked from his mouth and his bowels, flowing down the wall in a slow red trickle. "_Please_, Your Grace, don't make me look any longer."

He gave her hair a sharp pull. "You'll look as long as I want you to. Beg some more and I'll set a guard to keep you here all night." He smiled, but it brought no joy to her like it had earlier today. He pointed at the man's chest and his grin grew. "Do you see that there? I made sure the man can no longer spread his poisonous lies."

Sansa followed his finger. Around the man's throat was a thinner length of rope, at the end of which was his . . . _his tongue. _Sansa shrieked and tried to turn away, but Joffrey held fast. "Why would you show me_ this? _I've never done anything bad. It was all my father and sister. Not me . . ." She began to cry.

Joffrey let go of her and she fell to her knees. "You needed a reminder of what happens to traitors. Now get up. And stop crying, you're more pretty when you smile. _Smile_, your king commands it."

Sansa fought back the tears that threatened to continue falling, wiped her eyes, and stood up. She put on her best smile and Joffrey turned away, seemingly satisfied. "Follow." He strode towards the steps leading up to the ramparts and Sansa had no choice but to follow. _You won't cry, Sansa_. _He is only scared you'll leave him too, _she assured herself. Ser Meryn and the Hound appeared and followed closely behind her. Sansa kept her eyes glued to his head as they walked along the wall. Earlier in the day, Sansa had daydreamed about how dreamy he was, but now in the setting sun his hair had the look of pale straw in place of the typical color of spun gold. She felt sick, but she wouldn't allow herself to retch, not here.

"There, look up there." He pointed at the wall, when Sansa looked she almost forgot her promise. There were three heads stuck on spikes, about a foot apart from each other. They were dipped in tar, thank the gods, so they just looked like nothing at all, just dark shapes. The first one was large, the second and third small. "These are the gold cloak's whore and his two whelps. I promised him at the Sept of Baelor that I would give his family mercy, and I did. I only took their heads, I had planned to hang them beside him." He smirked and pointed further down, but there was only a group of over a dozen empty spikes. Joffrey didn't wait long to explain. "Those will be for your family, once my grandfather crushes your brother. I'll ride to the North personally and take the heads of your _traitor_ father, your _bitch_ mother, the cripple, that wolf you call a sister, and your baby brother. They'll all have their own spike. Right here in King's Landing! Then I'll travel to the Wall and take that old man's head, and your _bastard _brother's too, for good measure."

"_Why?_" she cried. "Robb will return home . . . he only wanted Father and now Father's going home. You don't need to kill them . . . they'll be good, I promise."

"Maybe you're right. But I want to, and I'm the king, so I get what I want. I think you've learned your lesson. I hope I won't have to teach you again."

Sansa stood straight and looked him right in the eyes. She needed to be strong. "Yes, Your Grace, the lesson was well taught and I have learned much from it. I am sorry to have given you cause to doubt my devotion to you."

Joffrey looked for signs of falseness, but Sansa gave him no cause to doubt her words. "Alright, you may go. We will not be dining together this evening. I have much that still needs my attending. You'll join me at court tomorrow, and I want you pretty. I like you pretty."

Sansa left Joffrey standing there and went to her new chambers_. _She laid on her bed, exhausted, and wondered why she hadn't just gone with Yoren. He had seemed sincere, but she had chosen her prince. _Joffrey was only scared to lose me. He won't actually kill my family, he was going to give Father mercy. _The words brought some comfort, though only a tiny amount. She couldn't shake the sight of that man on the wall, and his family's heads. _"You should count yourself lucky that Lord Stark escaped when he did, else you'd have learned the hard way how merciful your little boy king is," _Yoren's voice spoke into her head. She fell asleep to the sound of his voice reminding her repeatedly of Joffrey's _mercy_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't kill me. Dolten's punishment was always going to be severe after what he screamed at the Sept of Baelor. I thought to do it off chapter, but then I realized it was a good plot point to start to make Sansa see Joffrey for who he truly is. Next chapter will be in Robb's pov.


	6. Robb I

"The King in the North!"

"The King in the North!"

"THE KING IN THE NORTH!"

It took several minutes before the lords' cries began to die down. Several of them gave him strange looks, as if they knew something was amiss. "My lords," he began, "there's been a raven from King's Landing . . ." _Dark wings, dark words. _His father used to say that, but perhaps this raven's words did not need to be dark. The words caused much uncertainty in Robb, and even more questions, so many that if he paused too long to think on it his head began to ache.

"_Well_, are you going to tell us what the bloody bird says?" The Greatjon had been Robb's staunchest supporter, ever since Grey Wind had bitten off two of his fingers. He was a huge man, and extremely strong. Truth be told, the Greatjon scared Robb, not that he would ever admit it.

Robb unrolled the scroll and began to read. "To Robb Stark, the traitor and rebel against the Iron Throne." Several of the lords laughed at that, while other scoffed and scowled. "In the name of His Grace, Joffrey of the Houses Baratheon and Lannister, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, the Iron Throne demands you return the traitor, Lord Eddard Stark, to King's Landing immediately. Upon Lord Stark's return, you and all of your vassals will swear fealty and be allowed to return home, pardoned of all crimes."

There were several gasps and even more laughter than before. "Robb . . ." Catelyn stepped up beside her son and took the scroll. "It can't be . . . I feared I'd never see Ned again." She broke into tears and wrapped Robb in a tight hug.

More stepped up to read the scroll, first the Greatjon, then Maege Mormont and her daughter Dacey, then Rickard Karstark, then the lords Bracken, Mallister, and Blackwood. Finally the letter had made its way around to all the lords and knights present and was returned to Robb. Most were too stunned to speak. Robb understood them best, he was stunned as well, and utterly lost on what to make of such a letter, but he needed to put on a stolid face. "Pick up your weapons, my lords," Robb commanded. "You do me a great honor, but I do not want to be a king. We came south with a simple purpose; to save my father, your liege, but it appears that he has seen fit to save himself." Robb laughed and several others joined in, mainly northmen. The river lords looked anxious.

The Greatjon gave Robb a hearty slap on the back. "Well then let's get to Winterfell and give him a proper welcome."

Jonos Bracken stepped forward from among the throng of lords. "Your Grace, you can't mean to abandon the riverlands, surely. Lord Tywin and his mad dogs still run free, burning everything as they rape and pillage their way across the land. Your lord father is safe now, and I believe I speak for all when I say it brings great pleasure to learn of his escape. But _we_ need the North more than he does right now."

Tytos Blackwood stepped forward. "Bracken is right . . . _heh_, never thought I'd say those words. The riverlands needs you, Your Grace. If Lord Stark has escaped he'll surely join us here at Riverrun. He may even be on his way here at this very moment. If you march north with all your strength then Lord Tywin will move to cut you off from returning south. The riverlands will be lost."

Robb looked into the eyes of his mother, but found no answer there. _What would Father do? _he asked himself.

"The raven could be false, Your Grace," Ser Brynden Tully said from where he stood by the wall. "It could be a Lannister trick, meant to draw you north and give them the time to trap you there."

Robb drew himself up. _I need to be Robb the lord now, not Robb the boy._ "My lords, I thank you for your wise counsel. I will not abandon the riverlands, I swear it, but I am not your king." The lords all began shouting at once, some at each other, most at Robb. "MY LORDS!" They quieted down, although it took several moments. "I was not born to be a king . . ."

Catelyn cut him off. "Neither was Aegon V, he was the fourth son of a fourth son, yet he was king all the same. You are the-"

Robb silenced her with a look. "_I was not born to be a king_, and in truth, I don't want it. I'll never yield to the Lannisters, and I won't lay down my sword until the blood of Tywin Lannister is upon it. If it is a trick, then we continue as planned, and free my father. If it is not a trick, my father, _your _liege, is heading north. He will send word when he is safely away, of that I am certain." He paused and looked into each of their eyes before he spoke again. "We will hold here until there is word." He turned and strode out before anyone could object. The lords began talking among themselves but before long he was out of earshot.

Someone followed him all the way back to his chambers, but neither said a word and Robb didn't care to look back. He sat behind the desk in his solar, filled two goblets with Arbor gold, and waited for whoever had been following to catch up.

"Robb," Catelyn said as she took the seat opposite him. Robb gestured to the second goblet, not saying a word. She took it and drank a few sips before setting it aside. "You shouldn't have done that."

Robb sighed. "What would _that_ be, walking off, or ordering a hold until word arrives?"

"_Both _. . . and for refusing to be crowned."

"There is nothing I should have done more. I don't want to be king, Mother. Father is alive, I can feel it. I would go home today if it didn't mean abandoning the riverlands to Tywin Lannister's wrath." Only two battles had been fought, yet Robb already felt like he had been fighting for years. His cause was just and he would never yield, but he could not find joy in battle, even in victory. Theon helped somewhat, always there with steely conviction or a bawdy jest, but it was Jon he wished was here, not up at the Wall. _Perhaps I could send for him . . . if he's sworn no vows he could come, and he would, if I asked it. _

"Much as I wish it were true, you can't know that Ned is still alive-"

"_He is_," Robb objected.

Catelyn shook her head. "That raven is a Lannister trap, no doubt. How could Ned escape? He is imprisoned in the middle of the Red Keep, surrounded by Lannister guards, in King's Landing, that has thousands of gold cloaks all paid for by the crown. I pray to the Father night and day for Ned's safe return, but he will not be returned to us through some cunning escape. He will be saved by swords, your sword, your bannermen's swords, and all the men who follow them. It is foolish to sit and hope for Ned to delivered to you." Robb scowled, but Catelyn continued on as if she hadn't noticed. "And you _must_ accept the crown. If not you, then who? Would you declare for Stannis or Renly, against your own bannermen's wishes, I might add. They wish for a king to follow, and they want you." Catelyn raised her goblet. "To Robb of House Stark, First of His Name, the Young Wolf, King of the North and the Trident."

Robb ground his teeth so hard that for a moment he feared they might break. _Not you, Mother. Why can't you see I don't want a bloody crown? _He took a deep breath and calmed before he spoke. "_Mother_ . . . Father is alive. _He is_. I'll grant you that it is most likely a trick, but what if it isn't. You would have me take the title of King in the North while Father still draws breath. Well I won't . . . he is still the head of House Stark, as you seem to have forgotten. When Father has been saved, _either _by my sword or his own cunning, he will decide what the North does, not me. Whether he declares for a king of his own choosing, or is crowned himself, it makes no matter."

"And what if, gods forbid, Ned is killed? What will you do then? What if the lords no longer want you for a king? What if-"

Robb slammed his fist onto the desk, shocking Catelyn into silence. "_Enough_, Mother. I am done discussing this. I hear your words, I do, and I will heed them, but we only just received this raven. If Father has not sent word within a fortnight I will take the crown, if the lords still wish it so. Lord or king, it makes no matter, I will protect mine own, as any wolf would for his pack. Now leave me, I wish to gather my thoughts."

Catelyn gave a tight, courteous nod and strode from the room. Robb slumped in his chair and a few tears fell. _Come soon, Father. _Grey Wind padded into the room and pressed his muzzle in Robb's hand. Robb couldn't help but laugh looking down at his faithful companion. _Everyone thinks me a fool but the wolf. If I'm wrong, my bannermen are more like to dress me in motley than a crown._

A day passed with no further word, and another, and another. The lords were getting increasingly anxious. Some still nodded as he passed, but most ignored him. Robb forwent all war councils in favor of praying at Riverrun's godswood or sitting in his chambers with Grey Wind as his only constant companion.

The next day Edmure Tully gave the riverlords leave to depart and defend their own lands. Robb watched from the battlements but made no attempt to stop them. _Edmure's their lord_, Robb reminded himself. _I made my choice, just as all men must. _"My lord, a raven has arrived for you. It is most peculiar, I must say," a voice said from behind him.

Robb turned back to Maester Vyman, who held out a letter sealed by the direwolf of his own House. The Maester was an old man, lined and wrinkled as one would expect, yet he still moved with the deftness of a man twenty years his junior. The seal was broken, but it was not peculiar for a Maester to read the messages they receive, unless ordered otherwise. _Dark wings, dark words. _Robb read the scroll anxiously.

_Lord Robb, your father has sent word from Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. He is safely away from the Lannisters, but is headed for Castle Black, not Winterfell. He has asked for an odd item from myself; a Targaryen seal, which I have already sent to Castle Black. The letter also sent a request for Mikken; three full sets of plate armor, two enameled white, the other black. Three cloaks were ordered as well, two white and one red. Apologies, my lord, but no mention was made of when he might return or why he would need such items._

_Maester Luwin_

"Maester, no mention is to be made of this raven. Should the northern lords find out, there will be outrage, and panic. They are not soon to forget what the last Targaryen in Westeros did." _What is Father thinking?_

"Yes, my lord. Do you require anything further?"

"Yes, send for Lady Catelyn to meet in my solar. Do not give reason for the summons, but tell her it's important."

"Of course, my lord." Maester Vyman strode away, his robe dragging along the cobbles as he went.

Robb turned back and looked out at the Tumblestone flowing past._ A Targeryen seal? What could possibly await at Castle Black that would require such a thing? _Robb shook himself and started towards his solar. He passed through the godswood on the way back. It was bright and airy, the exact opposite of the godswood at Winterfell. At its center was the heart tree, a slender carved weirwood. The ladies Dacey and Maege Mormont knelt before it, praying silently with their eyes closed. Robb knelt beside Dacey and sent up his own prayer, asking the old gods for answers on what the letter might mean. He finished and stood to find both of the Mormont ladies looking at him. "My ladies, can I assist you with something?"

Maege stepped forward with a mixture of worry and understanding upon her face. "My lord, you look distressed and I see you have a raven scroll. Has there been word from Lord Stark?"

Robb cursed himself for being so foolish as to not stow the scroll. He thought about lying, but quickly decided against it. The truth, whatever it may be, will come out eventually and the Mormonts could be trusted. Both had fought bravely in the Whispering Wood and again at the Camps; Maege with her men, and Dacey at Robb's side. "Yes, there has been word. My father is alive and safely on his way to Castle Black."

Smiles broke out on both the Mormonts faces and Dacey stepped forward and wrapped Robb in a tight hug. When she backed away, Robb noticed a quizzical expression on Maege's face, where a smile had been only moments before. "Excuse me, my lord, but did you say Castle Black? Why would Lord Stark go there? Does he intend to take the black?"

Robb sighed and held out the letter. "I do not know, though I doubt he intends to take the black while his people are fighting in the south. The raven came from Maester Luwin at Winterfell, not the Wall. Read it, perhaps you can make better sense of the words."

Maege read the letter silently, then passed it to her daughter. Dacey looked clearly confused, but Maege's face was less clear. "My lord," Maege began, "I have known your father for many years. I cannot speak to the meaning of these words, but I trust him with my life. If he thinks this is the best course, then he can count on us." Dacey nodded in confirmation.

"You both have my thanks. I must ask that neither of you speak of this letter again. The other lords might not take the suggestion of a Targaryen in Westeros as well as yourselves."

"Yes, my lord." Dacey turned and walked away.

Maege laid a hand on Robb's shoulder. "Keep faith, my lord. Lord Stark has more wits than the southron give him credit for." With that she was gone as well, striding off after her daughter.

When Robb got to his solar, Catelyn was already seated in front of the desk. Robb took his seat and watched her for moment. She had been avoiding him since he refused the crown, only offering basic courtesies if she spoke at all. Robb held out the letter without saying a word. He drank two goblets of wine while she read. The warmth settled in his chest and made him feel more confident then when he had first seen the cold, courteous look on Catelyn's face. That look was gone by the time she had finished the letter.

"Your father is alive," she said in disbelief.

"Yes, mother. It is just as I said."

"But why would he head for _Castle Black_?"

Robb shrugged. "Perhaps he wishes to bring Jon south."

Catelyn's face curdled like sour milk. "I won't have that _bastard_ within these walls. I won't! He belongs to the Night's Watch, I told Ned he had to go. He can't just come back . . . it-it'd be desertion!"

Robb recoiled from his mother's sudden fury. "Mother! Enough! We don't even know that is what Father is planning. But if it is, you will not turn him away. Did you even notice the mention of the Targaryen seal?"

"What of it?" Catelyn said, seemingly unfazed.

"You don't find it odd that Father would request a Targaryen seal and _three_ full sets of plate armor?"

"Why would I? It is a trick to win support to our cause, most like. Nothing to concern ourselves with."

Robb took the letter from her and tossed it into the hearth. "Trick or not, the other lords cannot find out until we know more. The last Targaryens and their deeds are not soon forgotten. The North remembers." He looked up to see Catelyn almost at the door. "Mother," he called.

"Yes, my lord." She turned back with the same cold, courteous look from when Robb had first entered.

"Do not speak of this letter to another. When there is more details, I will tell the lords myself."

"As you say, my lord." She left, slamming the door behind her.

_Gods help us if Father brings Jon south. _He drank another two goblets of wine and staggered to his bed. The sun had not yet set, but Robb passed out as soon as his head hit the pillows.

A week passed with no further word. Catelyn was ever more cold, and once Robb had found her at the smithy, ordering a crown to be forged. He had stopped her and told the blacksmith to ignore any order for a crown. Robb had tried to speak with his mother afterwards, but she was like the Wall, cold and unyielding. "As you will, my lord," was all she offered when Robb told her that he would have no need for a crown.

The next day, Robb was sitting at his desk when there was a knock on the door. "My lord, there has been word from Castle Black. Might I come in?" Grey Wind's ears perked up but he did not move from in front of the hearth.

"Yes Maester, you may enter." Robb kept his voice level, though inside he was anxious, more so even than on the night before his first battle. Beside Maester Vyman was his uncle Edmure, the heir to House Tully. He had the classic Tully features; auburn hair, deep blue eyes and a fiery red beard. They took the offered seats opposite Robb, and Edmure poured himself a goblet of wine, looking grim.

"My lord, a raven has brought two messages from Castle Black," Vyman stated formally, but no letters were offered.

"Well . . . where are they?" Robb asked impatiently.

Maester Vyman reached up his sleeve and procured the two letters. Robb took them and looked at the seals; one was the direwolf of House Stark stamped in grey wax; the other was the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen in black wax. Robb looked up at the two faces, questioning, but they only nodded for him to read. _Dark wings, dark words. _He unrolled the Targaryen letter and began to read.

_All men know me for the Bastard of Winterfell, Jon Snow, natural-born son of Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell. This was a lie to hide me from men who would seek to slaughter a newborn babe for the name they bore. Men that had already slaughtered my trueborn siblings, Rhaenys and Aegon Targaryen by the time I was birthed in Dorne. I am the last scion of House Targaryen, trueborn son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Lady Lyanna of the House Stark. The Rebellion was based on a lie forged by the Usurper, Robert Baratheon, to take the throne and my lady mother. By right of birth and blood, I do this day lay claim to the Iron Throne of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. Let all true men renew their fealty and be forgiven for all past crimes wrought on House Targaryen, as House Stark has already done. Done in the Sight of the Old Gods and the New, under the sign and seal of Jon of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. _

_Jon of House Targaryen?_ _Trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark? That would mean Jon is my cousin, not my brother. Gods be good, this is going to be a mess._

"Nephew?" Edmure's voice ripped Robb from his thoughts. He reached for his wine cup and knocked it to the floor. The room started spinning. Robb felt himself fall to the floor and then his thoughts blurred. _Jon of House Targaryen._

Robb drifted in and out of consciousness. He heard his uncle shouting for guards. _Why is he shouting? Did something happen? _Next thing he knew, there were two pairs of strong hands hoisting him up and dragging him. Then something soft was beneath him and everything went black.

Robb awoke and surveyed the room. _My bedchamber_, he realized. He tried to speak but his throat was parched and it came out as a croak. The door opened and Maester Vyman entered. He rushed over when he saw that Robb was awake. "Wat'r," Robb choked out.

"Of course." Vyman picked up a cup from a nearby table and held it to Robb's lips.

Robb drank two more cups before he finally felt able to speak. "What happened? The last thing I remember was finishing the letter and then . . . everything blurred."

The Maester put a hand to Robb's forehead. Seemingly satisfied, he took a step back before answering. "It is my belief that you fainted, my lord. When did you last eat?"

_When did I last eat? _Robb struggled to remember but eventually it came to him. "I ate my midday meal yesterday, I believe."

Vyman nodded. "As I thought. You retched after you fell, but only wine and bile came out. That would attribute to why your throat was so parched, my lord."

Robb sat up and pushed himself back against the wall. "How long have I been out?"

"Two hours, or near enough as makes no matter. How are you feeling?"

"Better after the water. I neglected proper care of myself with everything going on. It won't happen again. Now where is Edmure? We need to speak on the letter."

"Lady Catelyn and Lord Edmure are waiting outside. Your mother is quite . . . _distressed_. Though whether from your fall or the letter, I could not say. I'll leave you to collect yourself."

Robb sighed when the Maester shut the door behind him. _Great, I'm sure Mother is overjoyed to find out that Jon is coming south. Though it is not Jon Snow, the Bastard of Winterfell coming south, it is King Jon Targaryen. _Robb failed to convince himself that his mother would appreciate the difference. He stood and filled his cup from the flagon of water on the table. Robb noticed his chest was bare. _The vomit, _he gathered. He grabbed a clean tunic and threw it on; it was made from soft brown leather with a direwolf emblazoned on the breast in white thread.

His mother and uncle were seated in front of his desk, the Maester had disappeared. Both sets of eyes followed him to his seat, but neither spoke. "Well I just awoke from a most glorious nap. How have you both been?" Robb cracked an easy smile and took a drink from his cup.

Catelyn frowned. "This is no time for jests, Robb. I assume you read the letter?"

_Jon of House Targaryen. _"What letter would that be, dear mother?" Robb asked innocently.

The frown deepened. "The one declaring the _bastard_ a king. Edmure says you fell after reading it."

Robb's smile died. "Yes mother, I read it. The letter was only a factor to my fall, a very _small _factor. I have been neglectful in taking care of myself, largely in part to having to consistently stop my own mother from going behind my back and crowning me."

Catelyn looked a mixture of angry and desperate, an odd look by any means. "It is even more important that you are crowned now. Your father will march south with that _bastard_ and you need to be a king before he reaches Riverrun."

Robb scowled at the word bastard. He had disliked Jon being called that before, but now that the truth was out it angered him further. "Did you not read the same letter as I? _Jon is not a bastard._ He is a king and Father has declared House Stark for him. You would have me go against my blood, father and cousin, for a crown I have already declined. Have you taken leave of your senses?"

Edmure spoke up, looking pointedly at his sister. "Cat, he's right. This boy, Jon, he is your nephew by marriage. Nothing is more reviled by the Seven than a kinslayer."

Catelyn subsided slightly. "Okay . . . but what if the lords don't want another Targaryen for their king? It will start a war amongst our own men. Only Tywin Lannister will profit from that."

"I know, Mother. It will not be easy but between me, Father, and Jon we should be able to assuage any doubts. Though you must remember that Father is their liege, and House Stark has declared for Jon."

Maester Vyman walked in with a platter of bread and cheese and set it on the desk. "Try and eat a few morsels, my lord, but don't engorge yourself. And stay away from the wine for a day or so, at least."

Robb nodded and took a small bite of bread. It was fresh baked, still warm and made him feel better as he ate more. He finished half the loaf before he set it down, remembering the Maester's words. "Maester, assemble the lords in the great hall, if you will. They need to hear of this letter from me and I would inform them sooner rather than later."

"Yes, my lord." Vyman strode from the room.

"Well, should we get to this meeting, nephew?" Edmure asked.

"I need to read the second letter. You both can continue on if you'd like. I'll be down shortly." Robb's tone left no doubt that he would prefer them to leave. Catelyn looked ready to protest but Edmure gripped her elbow and shook his head. She looked sullen but left all the same. Robb picked up the letter, cracked the seal, and began reading.

_Robb, it's Father. Arya and I are safely at Castle Black and will be departing for Winterfell soon. I know that you may be confused by the letter about Jon. It is the truth, Jon is not my own. I need you to bring the lords to meet us at Winterfell. The lords need to see him, and I am not certain that we will go straight to Riverrun from Winterfell. That is for Jon to decide. Leave your men under the command of Edmure Tully and ride north with as small an escort as you can manage. It would be better if Lord Tywin did not know of your movements. I will explain everything when we meet at Winterfell, I promise. I love you son, and I am proud of you. Ride hard._

_Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell_

_I will, Father. I'll see you soon. _Robb finished his cup of water and ate a chunk of hard cheese before rising. Grey Wind joined him in the hall, silently keeping stride beside the young lord. Outside the Great Hall, Robb heard raised voices, all shouting to be louder than the next. _Damn you, Mother. _He pushed open the door and the shouts grew even louder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Robb . . . Next chapter will be Ned II. :)


	7. Ned II

_The Wolf's Howl _was not a large ship, which turned out for the better. It's slender frame and a steady wind allowed the ship to cut through the waves like a bird in flight. After picking up Ned the ship began its journey for Eastwatch. The hold carried salt pork, salt cod, salt beef, wheat, barley, cloves and honey, bought and paid for by Yoren, to be delivered to the Night's Watch. It also brought a group of recruits to the Wall, around thirty men and boys, most of which were criminals from the Red Keep's dungeons. All of this was a farce for the ship's true mission; to bring Eddard Stark and his daughter Arya safely from King's Landing to the North.

Other ships passed them frequently, heading for King's Landing, so Ned stayed below deck, hidden away in his cabin. During the day, a small window provided adequate light and by night the captain provided candles and a lantern. There was fresh food at every meal, parchment, ink and a quill, and a bath on request. The first one had been warm water but every one after that was water from the bay. It was tepid at the best of times and left a heavy smell of salt on his skin but it was clean and clear. In short, Ned wanted for nothing, but wanted the one thing he couldn't find aboard this ship or anywhere in the known world; peace.

His dreams were haunted and voices could be heard in every gust of wind; Lyanna, frowning and shaking her head; Arya, tears flowing with abandon, a mixture of anger and hurt; Ser Barristan and Ser Arthur, disappointment written in every line of their faces; Robert, a man that been as much a brother as any of Ned's own kin, now looked at him with such fury he flinched to see it; but the worst of all was Jon. When Jon showed up in Ned's dreams, he had no expression and said nothing, it was as if he was looking straight through him. _Gods Lya, I failed him. Robert beggared the realm and still I supported him, and would have continued to do so if he hadn't been murdered. And Arya . . . she may never forgive me. _

In the end it had been Varys' words and actions that had saved Ned, yet if it weren't for Jon, he would not have done it. Ned couldn't trust him, but he would never forget who saved him, even if it had been conditionally. _And Ice . . . _Ned looked at where his sword laid against the wall. _Four hundred years and I was almost the Stark who lost it. _

"Lord Stark," a voice said from behind him. Ned turned to see Ser Barristan standing in the doorway. "I knocked, several times in truth. I believe we need to talk."

"Aye, I suppose we do. Have a seat." Ned couldn't help but rub his eye. It was still slightly swollen from where Barristan's fist had connected his first night aboard, and it itched something fierce.

Ned had just been returning to his own room from Arya's and Barristan had been waiting at his table. "Did you tell her?" At Ned's nod he continued. "How did she take it?"

"Not well. I didn't expect her to like it, but it was time. She needed to know the meaning of her dream, against my better judgement."

Barristan ground his teeth before speaking. "Yes well, it has been proven your judgement is shaky on a good day."

Ned had been tired and hurt from Arya's words so he reacted poorly. "_My judgement!_ I know another man who served Robert faithfully. At his very side no less. Perhaps you can recall him, _ser._"

Ser Barristan jumped to his feet and stepped up to Ned. "_I didn't know. _The fault for that lies solely with _you_. Remember that, _Stark._ The realm needed Jon and _you _left him to join the Night's Watch. If it weren't for Arthur, your head would be piked on the Red Keep's walls where you would have a beautiful view of the realm you failed. _Remember that._" Barristan started for the door but Ned wouldn't leave it be.

"I did all I could to protect him. Arthur was ready to rekindle the war and let the realm bleed over a babe. I wouldn't do it for your lovesick fool and his mad father."

Barristan turned back, murder clear in his gaze. He stepped forward and hurtled his fist straight into Ned's eye, just below the brow. Ned fell backwards onto his bed. He had expected the dagger at Barristan's hip to come out and make an end of him, but when Ned sat up he was gone.

That had been six days past. Neither Barristan nor Arya would speak to him or even acknowledge him. The old knight was the only one she would speak to anymore. Ned could often hear their two voices drifting through the wall but it was too muffled to tell what they were saying. When Barristan wasn't sleeping or talking with Arya, he would stand guard at her door. Ned appreciated that, despite their enmity towards each other.

"_-ahem- _Lord Stark, if you would kindly take a seat."

Ned sat opposite Barristan and watched him, keen on not starting the conversation. The man looked somewhat nervous and slightly embarrassed, which amused Ned.

"I would like to start by apologizing, my lord. I should not have hit you. It was out of anger and no small amount of wine. Be that as it may, it was out of line and uncalled for."

Any remaining anger Ned may have felt left that instant. "The fault is mine. I should not have spoken of Rhaegar in such a manner. He was a good prince and would've have made a much better king than Robert. He had his flaws like any man, but I have no right to judge him as such. You were right, in all you said. I should never have let Catelyn convince me to send Jon to the Wall. Thank the gods that Ser Arthur had been there to save him from my foolishness."

Barristan visibly relaxed at his words. "Ser Arthur is the best of us. It will be good to serve with a man of honor again, if Jon will have me, of course. I thought the days of knights the like of Arthur Dayne, Lewyn Martell, and Gerold Hightower were done."

"Those days are never done, not so long as you and Arthur still draw breath." Ned gave a slight smile. "There must be other men of honor out there. We'll root them out and swear them to our cause. After all, what is a king without his Kingsguard?"

"Yes, Lord Stark. However few and far between they are, Arthur and myself will find them. I only hope that the king will listen to sound counsel and not hand out white cloaks as favors. A folly that Robert could not be swayed from."

"Jon is not Robert, thank the gods. Now, why did you come, ser? Surely it was not just to apologize for a simple punch."

Barristan shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "You are correct. Not merely an apology, no, but more so to offer assurances. Arya doesn't truly wish you dead in Lyanna's place, of that I am certain. It's just your daughter, she . . . is rather _willful_, as I'm sure you know. Given time she will forgive you, it may take a few weeks or even a moonturn but eventually she will."

"Thank you Ser Barristan, but if Arya hates me for the rest of my days, I will still come up short of what I deserve. I failed her. I failed Jon. I only hope to make some small amends before I join my forebears in the crypts below Winterfell."

"You will, Lord Stark, you will. One more thing, Repho says we are almost past the Grey Cliffs, we'll arrive at Eastwatch on the morrow. You may want to prep any messages you wish to send, it would be best if we don't linger for long. Yoren will take some time to reach Castle Black, laden with recruits and supplies, but he will make arrangements with the commander of Eastwatch for horses and a small escort."

Ned stood up and nodded solemnly. "We will linger no longer than necessary. If you'll excuse me, I should see about prepping these messages."

"Yes, Lord Stark." Barristan left and took up his post outside Arya's door.

_Messages? Where do I even begin? _Robb and Cat deserved a letter explaining things, but that was best to be sent from Castle Black. Though whether that was best for himself, or his wife and son, Ned couldn't be certain. There was no need to send word to Jon, they would be at Castle Black soon enough. _If all goes well, Jon will announce to the realm of his return and the people will flock to him. _Then it came to him. _Jon will need the seal of his House. _Ned sat at his chair and began composing a letter to Maester Luwin. He gave no reasoning, there was no point, they would all know soon. _Jon deserves more from me than some seal. _His thoughts went to Ser Barristan and the dirty brown robe the man had taken to wearing. _Armor . . . _Ned began to write out the order for Mikken. _Two sets of steel plate, enameled white with a cloak to match. A third set, enameled black with a red cloak. _

Ned rolled up the parchment and set it to the side. A soft knock came from the hallway, giving him a start. "Ser Barristan, come in."

The door swung open to find Arya standing there, biting her lip. "Father," she said without looking at him. "It's me."

_Arya . . . _Ned felt a twinge of pain in his heart. She stood in the doorway, shuffling her feet and staring at the floor. Dressed in breeches and a leather tunic with a cloak about her, she looked so much like Lyanna. "Arya, come in. Is everything alright?" She stepped in and closed the door behind her, but made no move for the empty chair. Ned stood up but didn't go to her, he wasn't sure if she would want that. "Arya . . ."

Arya looked up with fresh tears leaking down her face. Then she ran and leapt into Ned's arms. He stood stunned for a second before wrapping his arms around her. "I'm sorry, Father. I'm so so sorry."

"Its okay Arya. A few sharp words are a light punishment for allowing Jon to go to the Wall. I deserve much and more."

"Maybe . . . but it wasn't right to wish you dead. I was being stupid." She let go of Ned and sat down at the table. "I had a dream last night. We were back at King's Landing and Joffrey had Ser Ilyn cut your head off. I was right in front of you, but I couldn't move. Then your head yelled at me to run and I screamed and woke up."

"Oh Arya." Ned knelt beside her and took both of her hands in his own. "It was just a dream. We're in the North now, Joffrey and Ser Ilyn can't get us here. On the morrow we'll be at Eastwatch, a few days ride and we'll be at Castle Black."

Arya wiped her eyes and a stubborn look appeared on her face. "I'm still mad at you, you know."

"Aye, I didn't expect otherwise." Ned chuckled, stood and crossed to his own seat. "You are my daughter after all."

Arya stuck out her tongue and smiled. It was good to see her smile at him once more. Ned hadn't been sure he would ever see her smile again. They sat in comfortable silence for awhile, neither one wanting to be the first to speak. Arya began to get impatient though, as the minutes ticked by and the sun set. She started to tap her foot beneath the table and bite her lip, and one time opened her mouth as if to speak, but shut it just as fast. Ned stood and took the taper from the center of the table. He slowly walked around the room and lit all the candles in complete silence. When the candles were lit and Ned was seated once more, he decided to find out what was on his daughter's mind. "Arya, what has you ready to leap from your seat?"

"Jon . . . he has to beat the Lannisters. I know he can. But what if he learns the truth and decides to stay at the Wall anyway?"

Ned pondered for a moment before responding. After being given a second chance he had never thought that Jon would refuse the crown. _The Lannisters must be stopped. Left unchecked, they will destroy the realm. Jon will not let the realm die while he sits at the Wall. _"He won't," Ned answered finally. "You know him better than I. Do you truly believe for a moment that he would let innocent people suffer? That he would let Sansa remain in the clutches of Cersei?"

Arya flushed and looked down at her feet. "No, it's just . . . being king is hard. Do you know the reason that Jon never _visited _Winter's town with Robb and Theon?"

"No, I never paid it any mind," he admitted. It did not take Ned long to realize what she meant. He would need to question her later on how it was that she knew about their _visits_.

"The Wall wasn't Jon's first choice. He wanted to grow to be your captain of the guard, or even to earn knighthood, but one thing remained the same. He said it repeatedly and fervently; he would never father a bastard. He grew up a bastard, _your bastard_, but no woman would ever have him for a husband, or so he thought, so he resigned himself to the Wall. You will be asking Jon to not only be king, but to marry and have children."

She brought up a good point, Ned could not deny it. With all the worry of how Jon would react and being constantly haunted by his failure, he had never given any thought to Jon's need to marry. The kingdom had several potential suitors that would be a fit match for a king. Jon would need all the swords he could get. The might of the North could not defeat the other six kingdoms. They would fight to the last for a king they believed in though, and it was Ned's job to get the North to believe in Jon. _Marriage can come later, _he decided. "Jon is a man grown, and as king he will have to learn to rule. His marriage will be one of his own choosing, likely to join another kingdom to his cause. It is best not to worry over such trivial things. The questions will only serve to drive us mad, and the answers lay at Castle Black."

"Yes, Father," she answered tightly.

Ned crossed to Arya and knelt to look into her eyes. "Jon is our kin, but he will also be our king. He is a man grown, and it is not for us to tell him whom to marry. That is not to say he will have it easy, it will be hard on the best of days, and I shudder to think what it will be like on the worst. We can advise Jon, but it is up to him to make these decisions. It is getting late, you had best get some rest, we are not long for Eastwatch and there will be no featherbeds on the road to Castle Black."

Arya bit her lip and nodded, but made no move to leave. "Father," she said in a voice so soft it was almost a whisper. "May I sleep here tonight?"

Ned opened his mouth to decline but the words caught in his throat. This was his daughter, and after so long locked in the blacks cell, then to be reunited, only for the truth to drive them apart once more, Ned didn't have the heart to send her away. "Yes, you may. But first go and tell Ser Barristan to take your room for the night. It will be a cold hard ride to Castle Black and we had all best be well rested." Arya nodded once more and walked from the room. Ned laid in bed and closed his eyes, yet sleep eluded him.

The door opened, and the bed dipped slightly as Arya climbed up. Another long restless night, Ned knew. He only hoped that she would be able to sleep. Ned felt a slender arm snake around his waist, and a face press against his back. He grabbed her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. It was the first night in a long time that his dreams weren't plagued by his many failures.

The ship made port at Eastwatch three hours past dawn. They had next to nothing but the clothing on their backs and a few assorted weapons, so the captain gave them his farewells and sent them ashore while his crew began unloading the hold.

"Lord Stark!" a gruff voice called out from on the ship. Yoren appeared behind them with Gendry in tow, a bedroll tucked beneath one arm, his bulls head helm beneath the other. "Take the boy. He'll be more use to you than on the Wall."

"At last we spoke, you seemed adamant on keeping the boy. Why the sudden change in heart?"

Yoren spat. "Boy's too soft, wouldn't last a week on the Wall." Gendry looked as if he was going to protest, but decided better of it and just stared at his feet.

Ned smiled, despite himself. "As you say. Thank you again Yoren, for everything."

"It was nothing, Lord Stark. You have done much for the Night's Watch, I only repaid the favor." The two men shook hands, then Yoren walked back onto the ship, yelling at his recruits.

"Can you ride, Gendry?" Ned asked.

"No, m'lord," he answered, not looking up.

Ned stepped forward and laid a hand on the boy's arm, prompting Gendry to look up. _Gods, he looks just like Robert._ "You're a big lad. I'm sure you'll learn fast." Ned looked him straight in the eyes. "Do you want to come with us?"

"Yes, m'lord," the boy answered immediately, though he sounded unsure. Ned decided it was not the best time to question him, so he just nodded and began walking down the dock.

Cotter Pyke was a lean and hard man, a bastard from the Iron Islands, with a rough speech that left no question of that. He awaited them at the end of the dock with a Maester beside him. "Lord Stark," Cotter said as they approached. "The Lord Commander expects you at once."

"Yes, we shall be leaving as soon as possible. I have urgent business at Castle Black." The man looked at Ned with open disdain, but Ned cared not; the man would do him no harm.

"Mormont said as much." Cotter grunted. "Harmune'll see to the arrangements. I've got supplies to store." He turned to the Maester. "Best get to it. The sooner this lot is gone, the better."

With that he was gone, striding past Ned towards _The Wolf's Howl_. The Maester stepped forward and offered his hand, which Ned shook firmly. "You honor Eastwatch with your presence, Lord Stark. Cotter is just worried of the repercussions for Yoren's actions, as is the Lord Commander. If you'll follow me." Harmune was not an old man, likely not even past his fiftieth nameday. He was short and slight, but straight-backed and strong, with a kind face. The red tint to his face marked him as a man drunk more oft than not, but he spoke his words clearly and never stumbled. He led them towards the stables where twelve horses stood ready for travel. "Two for each of you, plus two for each of your escort. Can the girl ride? We can saddle ponies if needs be, but it will slow your journey considerably."

"_I can ride_," Arya said stubbornly.

The Maester smiled and nodded. "This one's a real she-wolf, no doubt. Each horse has the supplies needed for your journey. Alyn and Torell are two of Eastwatchs' finest rangers, they'll have you to Castle Black in under a week."

Two men stepped forward from within the stables. Both were tall and lean, with hard eyes, thick hair and bushy beards. One of them had hair as dark as soot, the other's was the same shade of brown as Ned's. They inclined their heads in unison and said, "m'lord."

Ned nodded at each of them and turned back to Harmune. "Thank you, Maester. There is one other thing I would ask of you." Ned pulled the letter for Maester Luwin from his pocket and handed it to Harmune. "If you would send this on to Winterfell, I would be grateful."

"Of course, my lord." Harmune bowed. "I will see to it now. These men will leave at your convenience, though I believe it best for you to be gone before Cotter gets back. He is deep in his cups and in a foul mood, as you saw."

"Aye, I noticed. We will not be long, just have to show the boy here how to sit a horse." The Maester bowed once more and walked off towards the rookery.

It took half an hour for Gendry to be able to sit his horse without falling. The boy was flushed and frustrated by the time he could keep his seat. Arya had laughed loudly each time he fell. Ned scolded her, while also keeping the grin that threatened off his own face. But finally he was able to ride and they all departed. The path followed along the Wall for a while, then it curved out into the forest. The horses maintained a canter for the first few hours as Gendry grew accustomed to the faster pace. Once he was, they kicked the horses into a gallop that lapped up the miles. Gendry never complained once as they darted between giant grey-green sentinels and huge pines that littered the ground beneath them with needles. The sun went down and the pace had to be slowed to a canter once more. They swapped horses in the dead of night and continued on. By the hour of the wolf, Arya and Gendry fell asleep in their saddles, slumped down against their horses neck, but still they pressed on. Ned was wide awake, loving everything around him, things he had never imagined being able to see or feel again; the trees, the cool air blowing through his hair, and riding a horse through the wolfswood, just to name a few. He finally fell asleep just before dawn.

Six days of hard riding and Castle Black loomed ahead, an anthill against the Wall. They had camped every second day, and only for a few hours. Ned was tired and sore, but he was here, and he had more important things to worry of than his own hurts. A single blast of a warhorn ripped through the air, announcing their arrival. A group had gathered at the front, watching the riders with varying expressions. The Lord Commander was not amongst the crowd. As Ned dismounted and turned away from the horse, a figure pushed through the crowd and wrapped him in a tight hug. A moment of shock passed before Ned realized it was Jon hugging him.

"Father," the boy said, equal parts worried and excited. "The letter said you were a traitor, but I never believed it. It's good to see you."

Ned hugged him back. Now was not the time to tell him, not among all these strangers. Besides this may be the last hug Jon ever gave him, once he learned the truth. He pulled away after a few moments and looked into Jon's eyes. _Lyanna's eyes. _The thought snapped him back to the true reason he was here. "Aye, it is good to see you as well. Rest assured, the only traitors are the Lannisters."

Everything else Ned had intended to say was cut off by Arya yelling and jumping into Jon's arms. "Little sister . . ." Jon set her down and smiled. "I see you still have my present. Do you remember the first lesson?"

Arya smirked and drew Needle. "Of course . . ."

_"Stick them with the pointy end!"_ they shouted, then burst out laughing.

The crowd had all but dispersed, except for one man. A man Ned knew well, Ser Arthur Dayne, or Daeron Snow for now. He smiled at the exchange between Jon and Arya, but when his eyes met Ned's the smile changed into a knowing smirk. He nodded towards Jon. Ned glared at him but nodded in kind. "Jon," Ned interjected. "I made you a promise when we parted ways, do you remember?" Jon looked confused for several moments before the realization dawned, turning his face grim and unreadable. "If there's somewhere private we can speak, it is time you learned about your mother."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And . . . cliffhanger because I'm cruel. Next chapter is Jon I.


	8. Jon I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My cruelty will now be atoned for. ;) Enjoy!

The wind felt amazing rushing through his hair as he darted down the kingsroad. He had rode out at dawn and no one tried to stop him.  _Why would they?_ Jon had sworn no vows,  _Ser Alliser_ had seen to that. Not even the Lord Commander was willing to step in to stop Ser Alliser. Even after Jon had saved his life, and he would bare the burn scars on his hand to prove it. Lord Commander Jeor Mormont had thanked him for saving his life, even gave him the Mormont ancestral sword, Longclaw, yet he refused to override Ser Alliser's decision to leave Jon a recruit. "Ser Alliser is the master-at-arms. It is his duty to decide when a recruit is ready to take his vows, not mine. There is nothing I can do," he had said, and so it was. 

Robb was taking a host south to rescue Father, so why stay at Castle Black for more torment when he could fight beside his brother. He had left Longclaw behind. It didn't seem right to take it. He may not have said his vows, but Mormont deserved to give the sword to a man who would truly honor the Night's Watch.  _Maybe Daeron will earn it. _ Jon laughed. It was unlikely Ser Alliser would let Daeron say his vows either. They were by far the best swordsman of the recruits, and had even taught the other recruits how to fight, yet somehow, all of their fellow recruits had been allowed to take their vows, while they could not. Jon felt bad for leaving him, but he couldn't afford anyone attempting to stop him. 

Jon stopped beside a stream to water his horse. It had rode long and hard, and there were still many miles to go. He pulled two apples from the saddlebag and fed one to the horse before sitting against a tree and biting into his own. Ghost lumbered out from the woods and laid down beside him, resting his head on Jon's leg. "We're going home, Ghost. You'll see your brothers and sister soon." Ghost lifted his head and stared up at Jon. His eyes were like live embers, unsettling to some, but not to Jon. He felt only comfort by his silent companion.

Jon awoke to the sound of hooves beating down the road. Ghost looked in the direction of the noise, but otherwise seemed uninterested. Jon almost leapt up and hopped his horse, but then he calmed.  _I've swore no vows. _ The horse was his own, the one he had originally ridden to Castle Black from Winterfell on. He had only taken enough food to get him to Winterfell and he left Longclaw behind. Comforted, Jon leaned back against the tree once more and absentmindedly stroked Ghost's head. 

The figure appeared around the bend, pushing his horse to go faster. He wore all black and reined up when he saw Jon alongside the road. At first Jon didn't recognize him, but then it dawned on him as the rider drew closer. " _Daeron?_ "

He dismounted and grinned. "Who else would come chasing after your sorry arse? All of your other friends didn't care.  _He's no man of the Night's Watch. Let him ride where the fuck he pleases_ , I believe was what Grenn said." He offered Jon a hand up. "Now come on, we had best be getting back."

Jon leapt to his feet, without the assistance of Daeron. " _Back . . ._ why would I go back? Robb is leading a host to rescue my father, and Ser Alliser plans to train me to an early grave.  _Come with me. _ Robb has need of all the men he can get, and you're a better swordsman than me."

"Our place is at the Wall," Daeron answered without hesitation.

"Ser Alliser won't let us take our vows, Daeron, and the Lord Commander won't stop him. What's the point of staying there?  _My brother _ needs me.  _My father _ needs me. The Night's Watch  _doesn't_ ."

"There was a raven," Dareon began. "Your father is headed for Castle Black. He'll be there soon."

Jon was in disbelief. A thought sprang to the forefront of his mind, unbidden.  _The next time we meet, we'll talk about your mother. _ "Father . . . he's coming to Castle Black. Why? How?"

"I believe you know why, don't you?" At Jon's nod, Daeron smiled. "And is the how of any real importance?" Jon shook his head. "Now, we had best be getting back. Will you join me?"

Jon said nothing, but mounted his horse and started back up the kingsroad towards Castle Black. The sun was high in the sky now; the people of Mole's Town were outside their houses, going about their business. If any of them thought strange of the two men dressed all in black, they gave no sign of it. The wind began to pick up, cutting through their thick cloaks, but Jon was numb to it. His thoughts left no room for such trivial matters.  _Is she lowborn, or high? Is she alive, or dead? Did she love me? If she did, why did she leave me?_

"Jon," Daeron's voice broke him from his musing. "What's bothering you?"

"My mother . . . I've wanted to know who she was since I was old enough to know what I am. My life on the Wall left me too busy to think on it, but now, knowing that soon I'll know who she is. It has brought all the questions back."

Daeron looked pained for a moment, then it was gone. "I understand . . ."

"You're one of the only who do. You've lived in the North your whole life, Daeron. Do you know who she was?"

The pained look reappeared on his face, transfixed as he spoke. "Jon, please don't ask this of me.  _Not this_ . I wish I could tell you, but I can't. Lord Stark will be here soon."

Jon wanted to protest, but the clear pain upon Daeron's face and the silent plea in his words gave him pause. "Okay, Daeron," Jon answered finally. "I'll find out soon enough."

Castle Black appeared as the sun was setting. They had rode in silence, neither feeling like speaking after the tense conversation. Ser Alliser awaited by the gate. "You brought Lord Snow back," he sneered. " _Why?_ "

Daeron's mouth formed a hard line. "Our place is at Castle Black, ser." He spurred his horse on.

Jon smiled innocently. "Only went for a ride, Ser Alliser. Wanted to feel the wind in my hair, as it were." He nudged his horse on and followed after Daeron.

Lord Stark arrived within a moonturn, riding through the courtyard with Ice strapped to his back. Jon was so happy to see him, that he forgot about his mother in that moment. The happiness only grew when Arya appeared with Needle still at her waist. The letter pronouncing Eddard Stark a traitor hadn't mentioned his sisters, and Daeron said that his hadn't either. "Jon," Father's voice interrupted his joyous reunion. "I made you a promise when we parted ways, do you remember?" Jon was lost but for a moment, unsure, then it came to him.  _The next time we meet, we'll talk about your mother. _ Jon's smile fell away, though he could not say why. He had wanted to know for so long, and now he would. "If there's somewhere private we can speak, it is time you learned about your mother."

Jon nodded and motioned for them to follow.  _Best get this over with. _ He led them back to his cell in Hardin's Tower. Daeron tried to enter but Jon held up a hand to stop him. "He said privately, Daeron." Jon voice was soft, just above a whisper. 

Lord Stark stepped up behind Jon and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Let him come, Jon. He will no doubt want to hear this. He's wanted to tell you himself for over a decade."

_Over a decade . . . how is that possible?_ Jon had not even known Dareon for a year, nevermind ten. He let him enter all the same. Behind Daeron was an elderly man. He wore an old roughspun robe and a borrowed Night's Watch cloak, though he moved with dignity and was surprisingly deft. "Who are you?" Jon inquired. 

The man knelt. "I am Ser Barristan, Your-  _Jon_ ."

"He is with me, Jon. He will want to hear this as well," Ned said from within the room.

"It is an honor to meet you, Ser Barristan. I was sorry to hear of your dismissal from the Kingsguard. You did not deserve such a dishonor," Jon said.  _Why has such an audience gathered to find out whom my mother is, _ he wondered, feeling odd. 

"The honor is mine, Jon." The knight rose and walked into the room.

Next came Arya, still all elbows and knees, but grown quite a bit since they had last seen one another. She hugged him tightly, looked up, and whispered, "No matter what, you're still my brother." A tear fell from her eye.

Jon wiped it away and smiled at her. "Of course, nothing can change that. After we're done here, perhaps we can train some, if you'd like."

Arya nodded and moved into the room. A boy stood in the hall, staring at his feet. Jon knew he wasn't a man of the Night's Watch. "Who are you?"

"Gendry, m'lord."

"I'm no lord. My name is Jon Snow. What do you want?"

The boy looked scared. He began muttering apologies and backing away. Lord Stark stepped up behind Jon. "He's with me, Jon. Is there somewhere he can stay while we speak?"

"My sleeping cell should suffice, Lord Stark. It is just next door," Daeron offered.

"That will do," he replied. Lord Stark moved into the hall and guided Gendry next door. When he returned, he moved past Jon without a word.

Jon whistled for Ghost, who padded over then sat on his haunches outside the door. He shut the door and turned back to his cramped room. Arya and Father were seated on his bed, Ser Barristan and Daeron stood against the wall opposite them. Jon managed a weak smile. "Well, shall we get on with this . . ."

Daeron stepped forward and knelt. It made Jon feel odd, first Ser Barristan and now Daeron. "I have lied to you these past few moons, Jon. My name is not Daeron Snow, nor am I from the North. I am Arthur Dayne, knight of King Aerys II's Kingsguard."

Jon stumbled back into the door.  _He can't be Ser Arthur . . . Ser Arthur is dead. _ "No, you're dead." He pointed a finger at his father. " _He killed you . . ._ "

Lord Stark stood and took Jon by the shoulders, looking him straight in the eyes. "It is the truth, Jon. I never killed Ser Arthur. After the war, Arthur hid away in the North and began his life as Daeron Snow."

"But, why?" Jon shrugged from his father's grip and moved to Daeron.  _No, Ser Arthur_ , Jon reminded himself. " _Why_ come to Wall, Ser Arthur?  _Why_ befriend me? Why, damn you,  _why_ ?" Jon felt tears burning a trail down his cheeks. Daeron had been Jon's best friend, a constant companion that understood what Jon felt, being a bastard himself. Now, Jon realized that he had never known the man before him at all. Ser Arthur gave no answer, he only looked pointedly at Lord Stark.

"Jon," he said from by the door. "It's not as simple as it seems. Arthur came to the North to protect someone, a person of utmost importance. You, Jon. He came here to protect you."

Jon was shocked, to say the least. "Me . . . why protect me? I'm just a bastard. What could I need protection from?"

Arthur snorted. "Who  _didn't_ you need protection from?" he said, ruefully. "Most of Lord Stark's  _friends_ would have gladly shortened your neck by a few inches should they have found out."

"If they had found out  _what_ ?" Jon asked, almost at his wits end.

"Who your father was," Lord Stark said, still by the door. He couldn't meet Jon's eyes after he said the words.

_Who your father was. _ The sentence resonated in Jon's head.  _No no no, its not true. It can't be. _ "W-what do you mean? You're my father."

Lord Stark lowered his head. He opened and closed his mouth several times, as if he were trying to speak, but couldn't form the words. "Tell him, Arthur. I can't," he finally managed, his eyes still downcast.

Jon turned to Arthur, who stood stiffly. "You are the son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen by the Lady Lyanna Stark. They married in Dorne after the High Septon annuled the marriage of Rhaegar to Lady Elia Martell. They lived at a place Rhaegar came to call the Tower of Joy. It was true love, Jon, and that love only grew when they found out that she was with child. When he rode to rally the crownlands and fight Robert, he left myself, Ser Gerold Hightower and Ser Oswell Whent behind to guard Lyanna. Lord Stark found us there. A fight ensued, taking the life of my two sworn brothers. I had almost died myself, but your lady mother's scream saved me. She died in childbed that day. You were born Aegon Targaryen, but there were too many people that would've killed you on sight for your name. Lord Stark took you for his bastard to conceal you, and swore me to silence." Arthur paused and laid a hand on Jon's shoulder before continuing. "I've wanted to tell you for many years, but I couldn't. My deception was not a choice I made easily. I'm sorry Jon . . ."

Jon stood there gaping at them all. He saw no shock on their faces, only varying degrees of sorrow if anything at all. _They all knew . . ._ _and not one of them told me. _He looked at Arya. A few tears leaked from her eyes when she noticed Jon staring at her, but she made no moves and said nothing. _Even Arya . . . _"I-I can't be. It can't be true . . . _it's not_."

Lord Stark looked up now and spoke with a shaky voice. "It is, Jon. "

"No, no." Jon stumbled towards the door still muttering  _no_ . Lord Stark stepped forward and tried to stop him, but Jon sidestepped him and ran out the door. He didn't stop until he reached the top of the Wall, Ghost keeping pace with him the whole way. He sat down, buried his face in Ghost's fur, and began to sob.  _My mother and father are both dead . . . and they loved me. _ He sobbed harder and wrapped his arms around Ghost's neck. It wasn't fair. For so long he had wanted to know the truth of whether his mother loved him. The truth was harder than he could've imagined,  _so much harder. They loved me . . . and they both died for me. _ Jon punched the icy floor, once, twice, then a third time. His knuckles ached beneath the fur-lined glove, but he barely even noticed it. He clung to Ghost and cried for what felt like days.

Movement startled him, and he rushed to wipe his eyes. A man stepped forward, but Jon struggled to see him through tear-blurred eyes. He rubbed his eyes again. Finally he was able to make out the old man, Ser Barristan, standing before him with a worried expression. "May I sit, Jon?"

"My name is Aegon . . . or so I'm told," Jon said, somewhat annoyed. He tangled a hand in Ghost's fur and motioned for Barristan to sit.

"Is it?" he asked. He took a seat across from Jon.

Jon let out a short bitter laugh. "If you had asked me the same question yesterday I would have said no without pause. But yesterday I was Jon Snow, the bastard son of Lord Eddard Stark. This morn I woke up the same, but I don't know what I'll go to sleep as."

"I understand," Barristan said kindly.

That irked Jon. " _Do you?_ Arthur said the same, back when he was still Daeron Snow. I doubt you know anything of what I feel. You're no better than the rest of them.  _Ser Arthur Dayne and Lord Eddard Stark_ , both renowned for their honor, yet they lied to the whole realm and no one suspected a thing."

"You're right, I don't know what you're feeling. But I know loss, and the pain of the lies Lord Stark said. I failed your father on the Trident, and while I healed, King Aerys and Rhaegar's children were murdered. Dragonstone fell, the Prince and Princess were scattered to the wind, so I chose to serve Robert. I didn't hear of you until after Lord Stark's imprisonment. Joffrey dismissed me, and later tried to kill me, so I hid out in King's Landing, searching for your sister, Arya."

Jon pondered his words. He seemed sincere, but so had Lord Stark when he called Jon son. He squashed that thought down, Ser Barristan was not like the rest of them, or perhaps that was just wishful thinking. "You saved Arya?" he asked softly.

"Yes, with the help of Varys' little birds. She only found out on the journey north, you know. She hated her father for the lie, only recently beginning to forgive him." Ser Barristan chuckled. "She forced them both, Arthur and Lord Stark, from your cell, after calling each of them a number of rather unladylike names. Arya was also the one who asked me to talk to you. She certainly is a willful girl, that one, and she cares about you."

Jon smiled. "Yes she is." He sat up straighter. "I'm sorry for acting harsh towards you. You should not be blamed for the sins of others."

Ser Barristan rose and knelt in front of Jon. "You have been through a lot, Jon, and there is more to come, should you decide it."

"What do you mean?"

"The realm bleeds. Joffrey is cruel and weak, and war has already begun, as you well know. You are a Targaryen, whether your name is Jon or Aegon, that fact stays true. The people need a king,  _a good king_ , to rally behind. I believe you are that king, and it would be my honor to serve you."

Jon laughed for true now, and stood. " _Me_ ,  _a king._ No, Ser Barristan, I think not. I know nothing of war and ruling. Why would you want  _me_ for a king? You barely know me."

"I know more than you think. I spoke with Lady Arya frequently while aboard  _The Wolf's Howl._ I know that most consider you sullen, but that is because most never  _really _ knew you. I know that you are close with the Stark children, expect for Lady Sansa, and you are closest to Lady Arya, who was considered an outsider like you. I know you observe much and are skilled at most of what Maester's teach. You are a strong swimmer, capable on horseback, and deadly with a sword. I know that once, as a boy, you covered yourself in flour and hid in the crypts of Winterfell, and scared Arya, Bran, and Sansa when Robb brought them there." Jon smiled at that memory. "I also know you are honorable and just, but not without kindness. You see, I know much, and I would gladly serve the man Arya described, if he would have me."

Jon blushed. To recieve such praise from a man so renowned as Ser Barristan heartened him, but also frightened him. He was not meant to be a king, he was to serve the Night's Watch, and maybe one day even be Lord Commander. Jon only managed to half convince himself. "I was not meant to be a king, Ser Barristan," he protested, though his resolve was weakening.

Ser Barristan looked up with a smile. "The crown does not make the man, Jon. It will not change who you are, unless you let it. The people need you . . . they will suffer if left to Tywin Lannister."

"War will only bring death to all," Jon commented.

"War is already here and your kin, Robb Stark, is in the middle of it. There is no avoiding death, but we get to choose what we die for, and what we live for." Barristan paused as he stood. "But it is your choice, Jon, and yours alone. If you choose to remain here at the Wall, no one will stop you. I will gladly take the black as well and serve alongside Rhaegar's son until the end of my days." He turned away and started walking back along the path to the stairs.

_Me, a king_ , he thought, still in disbelief.  _Maybe . . ._ Jon had always wanted to be viewed as honorable, perhaps this was his chance.  _I could be a good king. I will be a good king_ , he promised himself.  _I won't let a crown change me, I may be a Targaryen, but I will never forget Jon Snow, I am still him._ "Ser Barristan!" he shouted, unsure of exactly what he was doing. 

The knight came back, looking curious. "Yes?"

Jon hugged Ser Barristan, catching the knight off-guard. He backed up and smiled. "I am Jon, Jon Targaryen. Thank you making me see it, Ser Barristan, I would not have without you."

"What are you saying?"

Jon wasn't certain himself, but he felt this was the right thing to do. "I will honor the fallen, and reclaim the throne from the Lannisters. I will do what I must to make this realm a better place, as my father might've done." Jon scratched his chin. "I will need a Lord Commander to do that though, if you're willing.

Barristan smiled and dropped to one knee. "It would be my honor to serve you in any way you see fit, Your Grace."

The title brought an odd feeling to Jon, one he was not comfortable with. "Please don't take to calling me that. I would prefer Jon, for now at least. Now rise Ser Barristan, before you make me regret my decision."

Ser Barristan's smile grew wider as he stood. "As you wish, Jon. If I might say something else?"

"Yes, please do."

"Arthur," the knight began, killing Jon's smile. "He was devoted to your father and he gave up his life to watch over you from afar. I believe he has only good intentions, and never would've lied to you if he didn't feel it necessary. If you see fit to forgive him, I know that he will serve you dutifully and never tell you false again. He could be the second of your seven, and protect you as he has tried to do since you were a babe."

Jon mulled it over. Arthur lied to him, yet he had been sworn to silence by Lord Stark.  _I need more time to think_ , he decided. It was all too much, too fast. It felt as if his head was going to burst. "I will think on it, Ser Barristan," he said, ending the discussion. Jon flexed his hand.

Barristan nodded.

_What now?_ Jon asked himself, but no voice gave reply. Finally he remembered something.  _There is a Targaryen at the Wall._ "Ser Barristan. Return to Ser Arthur and Lord Stark, work on our next move. I will join you shortly, there are somethings I need to do before. And can you ask Arya to bring my sword to me in the courtyard?"

"Yes, Jon." Barristan turned and walked off, carrying out his king's orders.

Jon sat down once more, blowing out a deep breath. _Gods,_ _is this what ruling is like? _Ghost nudged Jon's hand, making the young king smile. In truth, he was already regretting his decision, but Ser Barristan's words still resonated within him. Jon wanted to be honorable, to live serving the realm and its people, and to protect his family. He would not go back now, even if some part of him wished it. 

When Jon returned to the courtyard, Arya was already waiting for him, Longclaw in hand. She looked worried.  _I probably look a mess. _ "Arya . . . I'm sorry for running off." Jon watched Ghost run off into the forest.

Arya huffed. "Just like you to apologize for needing to get away. I'm more shocked you didn't leave before Ser Arthur was finished." She frowned. "Are you okay? Ser Barristan said that you are but you don't look it."

"I'm . . ." Jon sighed. There was no point to lying to her. "No, but I will be, with time. It is just so much to take in, with so little time to decide. Right now, Tywin Lannister is at war with Robb, and I need to be there. If being crowned helps in some small way with his fight, then that is what I'll do.  _The rest _ . . . well, the rest doesn't really matter while there is war, so why bother to worry about it."

"I suppose not. Are you sure this is what you want?"

Jon grabbed Longclaw and strapped it across his back. He was still a tad too short to wear the sword at his hip, much to his chagrin. "No, but I'm glad to know the truth. I need to see Maester Aemon, do you care to join me?"

Arya nodded and followed Jon to the Maester's chambers. Clydas admitted them immediately, as if the Maester had been expecting them. Sam was seated beside the Maester, hunched over a book. "Ah, Jon, I had hoped you would come," Aemon said.

"Did you know?" Jon asked.

"Only after our dear Ser Arthur told me. I must say, Lord Stark was quite clever in hiding you. Had it not been for Arthur, I would not have figured it out."

"Yes, Lord Stark's deception was well . . .  _thought out_ ," Jon said bitterly. He couldn't bring himself to call him Father anymore, it hurt too much.  _He was never my father, he helped kill my father. _

"Come and sit." Jon sat down beside Aemon, who took him by the hands. "Lord Stark is just a man, Jon. He did what he thought best for his nephew and he has cared for you as any father would a son, has he not?"

"He sent me  _here_ ," Jon interjected.

Aemon appeared thoughtful for a moment, then he smiled. "Yes . . . well, no one can be perfect. But Lord Stark is here trying to fix his mistakes. He betrayed his friend to hide you, yet he did it all the same. Forgiveness need not come easy, just don't write it off completely."

"Thank you, Uncle Aemon." The Maester teared up at that.

"U-uncle?" a shaky voice asked.

"Yes, Sam. My thrice-great uncle if I'm not mistaken."

"B-but that m-makes you a T-Targaryen." The boy turned a pale white.

Jon cracked a smile. "Yes, Sam. I will be leaving Castle Black soon."

"Leaving? You can't just  _leave_ . You're a brother of the Night's Watch, they'll kill you."

"Jon has taken no vows, Samwell, he may leave if he so wishes. Please wait without, my nephew and I have things we need to speak on."

Sam calmed at the Maester's words. "Yes, Maester." He stood and looked at Jon. "It was good to have known you, Jon. I wish you the best of luck in your journey."

Jon smiled. "Sometimes different paths lead to the same castle, my friend. We will meet again, I promise you that."

When Sam shut the door, Arya was the first to speak. "Who was that?"

"Samwell Tarly, a friend." Jon flexed his hand.

"He's fat."

Aemon and Jon both chuckled. "You must be the lady, Arya Stark," the Maester said.

"I'm a wolf," she protested. "How are you Jon's uncle?"

"When a Maester says his vows, he puts aside his House name. I was Aemon Targaryen, before I said the words. Jon is my thrice-great nephew through his father, Rhaegar."

Arya nodded, but at Jon's nudge she said, "I see."

"So Jon, what would you like to know?"

_What do I want to know? _ Only one thing came to mind. "Why did you refuse the crown?"

"I was sworn to the Citadel, and my brother Aegon was not. I might've . . . had there been no other choice. I went to the Wall to ensure I could not be used in a plot to usurp my brother. I loved my family and would never have betrayed Egg."

"They want to crown me, and I've said yes, but I have so many doubts."

Aemon gave Jon's hands a small squeeze. "Doubts are good, to a degree. A king who does what he wants without care is no king at all. Though too much doubts may lead to hesitation at the wrong moment, a moment when your life depends on quick thinking."

"So I should I doubt myself, yet also not doubt myself." Jon laughed.

Aemon and Arya joined in. "Yes," the Maester simply said.

"Did you see the dragons, Aemon?" Arya asked, her eyes alight with curiosity.

"No, though I wish I had. The last dragon died before even my time, unfortunately." Aemon sounded almost wistful. "Have you been flexing your hand as I instructed, Jon?"

"Not as much I should . . ." He flushed, ashamed.

Aemon shook his head. "You need to do this, Jon. Where you're headed, your sword hand will be the difference between life and death, it needs to work. Let me examine it."

"What are you talking about?" Arya asked. "What happened to your hand?" Jon said nothing but tugged off his glove and held up the hand for inspection. The cracked flesh no longer oozed red, and the blood blisters were far gone, but it was still a sight. Arya gasped and gingerly touched it. "How did this happen? Are you okay?"

Jon held the hand out to the Maester. "A wight attacked the Lord Commander in his tower. Fire was the only thing that could stop it. A burnt hand is a small price to pay for our lives," he said as Aemon poked and prodded.

" _A wight_ ," Arya whispered in disbelief. 

"Yes, and another attacked, killing five good men before it was stopped. Something is stirring beyond the Wall, Arya."

"The hand appears to be alright, though I would not tempt fate again. What would happen were your hand to grow stiff and unyielding? Do not forget again." The Maester sounded worried.

"I won't. I wish that I could stay longer, Uncle, but there is still much to do. I will come see you as much as I can over the next few days, I promise." Jon tugged back on his glove and stood to leave, and Arya followed suit.

"Jon," Aemon said, halting their exit. "If I may impart one more piece of advice?"

"Of course."

"Lady Arya, if you would be so kind as to wait outside, I need a moment with my nephew." Arya frowned but left all the same. "I gave my brother, Aegon, this same piece of advice before departing for the Wall. He was three-and-thirty when he was crowned by the Great Council. A man grown with sons of his own, yet still a boy in some ways. Kill the boy within you, I told him. It takes a man to rule. Kill the boy and let the man be born. You are half the age that Egg was, and I fear that your burden will be far greater. There will be little joy in your crown, but I believe you have the strength to do what needs to be done. Kill the boy, Jon, for winter is almost upon us."

Jon felt a tear roll down his cheek as he crossed the room and wrapped the Maester in a hug. "I will," Jon promised. "Thank you, Uncle."

With that he was gone, leaving the only one of his father's kin that he might ever know. Jon walked past Arya and out of the tower. She caught up as they crossed the courtyard. "What did he say to you? Why are you acting all strange now?"

"It's nothing, Arya, there is just much to do and little time."

The two black brothers admitted both of them, yet Jon made Arya wait with Jeor's squire, Edd Tollett. This was something he needed to do alone. Lord Commander Jeor Mormont sat behind his desk with his raven perched upon his shoulder. " _Snow, snow, snow,_ " the raven cawed. 

"There is good news, Snow. Ser Endrew states that he finds your's and Daeron's skills exemplary, and that it is a wonder Alliser never allowed you to say our words. You can say them whenever he allows."

Jon grimaced, feeling ashamed where only a few days past joy would have been. "Lord Commander," he began.

Jeor cut him off. "Why do you look as if I've just killed your wolf? I thought you would be pleased."

"I am," Jon began again, "but I can not stay at the Wall."

"Ah, I see." There was no mistaking the disappointment in his voice.

"Lord Stark revealed my true parentage upon his arrival. I am the trueborn son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Lady Lyanna Stark. I have said no vows, and Joffrey must be stopped." Jon braced himself for what came next, whether it be anger or disappointment. He was shocked when neither occurred. The Lord Commander appeared . . .  _thoughtful_ .

"So you plan to lay claim to the throne?" he asked.

"I will do what I must. The realm has need of a good king, and there is worse than I."

Jeor let out a bark of laughter. "I suppose so. The Wall has need too, in case you've forgotten. You have seen what is coming, and every man will count when it comes time."

"Will I be of more help here though, as a man of the Night's Watch, or would I not be better served in the south where I can provide aid for the Wall as king."

Jeor rubbed his beard, when he spoke it was in a less formal tone. "You're right, having a king that knows of our hardship would be better served. The Night's Watch takes no part, so why come to me?"

"To ask for supplies. We will need horses, and food to last until Winterfell. It can be arranged for the horses to be returned to the Wall, if needs be."

"Done. I will have an escort formed to take you as far as Winterfell, past that you'll be on your own."

"And one more thing." Jon set Longclaw on the Lord Commander's desk. "This sword belongs to a man of the Wall, a man who will faithfully serve you and has the Watch's best interests at heart."

Jeor scoffed. " _This sword_ , belongs to whomever I bloody well choose, and I gave it to you. This is now the second time you have tried to return it. You had best learn better courtesy than that if you plan to be king. Keep the sword, you'll have need of one in the wars to come, and no sword will serve better than Longclaw." He pushed the sword back towards Jon. "I can have the pommel changed if you wish, a dragon perhaps, they have claws as well."

Jon laid a hand on the pommel, feeling the cold stone. It was carved in the likeness of a snarling wolf, of Ghost, who was more a part of Jon than a dragon would ever be. "No," he decided. "It will serve as a reminder of who I was. Are you sure you do not wish for it to remain here?"

" _No_ , damn you, I wish for you to stop trying to return it." His voice softened. "I planned to make you my steward, you know."

The words shocked Jon. He had always presumed that he would join the rangers like his uncle Benjen.

"I recognized something in you, Jon," the old bear continued. "I saw it in the yard when you helped train the other boys. You're a natural leader."

"That was Daeron. He's a far better swordsman than I, and he trained the other boys better than I ever could."

"Maybe so, yet they followed your lead, not Daeron's. He is a soldier and will be well served on the Wall, but he is not half the leader you are. That is why I planned to take you on as my steward, so that I might groom you to become the next Lord Commander. That will not happen now, yet you still possess the ability to be a great leader."

The words struck deep in Jon and filled him with a sense of pride. Though there was something the Lord Commander still needed to know. "Daeron Snow is not his true name. He is Ser Arthur Dayne. He lived in the North to watch over me, and joined me at the Wall to do the same. He will accompany me south as well."

Jeor frowned. "Aye, I guess he will. When will you depart?"

"As soon as possible. After this I am to meet with Lord Stark and the knights, Barristan and Arthur, to plan our next move."

Jeor rose from his seat, causing the raven to fly to one of the beams. " _King, king, king," _ it cried. "Best get to it then, Your Grace," the Lord Commander said, offering his hand.

Jon winced slightly, rose and shook his hand, then restrapped Longclaw to his back. The title still discomforted him, yet many would soon be calling him that and it would not do to correct them. "Thank you, Lord Commander. For the assistance, and the sword, but most of all for the words. They were a great help."

"It is no great trouble to speak the truth. Do not forget what is coming while you're in the South."

Jon held up his burnt hand and smiled tightly. "I will be hard pressed to forget, Lord Commander. We will speak more after plans are set."

Jeor nodded and Jon left to the raven crying  _king_ . Arya waited in the hall with Edd. She fell in step with him as they left the King's Tower and headed back towards Hardin's. "Edd is weird, why'd you leave me with him?" Arya asked angrily.

"Because I didn't trust the guards on the door. I trust Edd. He's somber but a good man."

" _Why'd you leave me at all?_ You let me stay with you at the Maester's." 

"You would have been a distraction and this was something I needed to do alone."

Arya huffed and quickened her pace. She closed the door in Jon's face when they reached the tower. Jon opened the door and went inside but Arya was gone by the time he reached the hall. Lord Stark and the two knights waited in Arthur's sleeping cell but she was not there. The boy, Gendry, was though. He stood in the corner and said nothing as the three men spoke. Their conversation came to an abrupt halt when Jon cleared his throat. "Your Grace," both Arthur and Barristan said as they knelt. Gendry and Lord Stark inclined their heads.

"Enough of that. What is your thoughts on our next move?"

Ser Barristan spoke up. "We believe it would best to announce your return from here at Castle Black. Let the realm know the Targaryens are not gone. Lord Stark had the good sense to send for a Targaryen seal from the Maester at Winterfell. It arrived by raven while you were away."

"A raven? How can it a carry a thing such as a seal?"

"It was a rather large raven, Your Grace." A small smile danced across Ser Arthur's face.

Jon nodded. There was nothing standing in the way now. He was terrified and part of him still wished to remain at Castle Black.  _Kill the boy and let the man be born_ , Maester Aemon had said, and that is what Jon needed to do. He would never forget being a Snow, but allowing it to remain would only hinder him.  _It is time. _ "Lets get to work then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And . . . scene. This marks the end of what I refer to as "phase 1". It will be by far the shortest phase, and I honestly have no idea how many phases there will be. This phase was mainly getting the pieces into place, so a lot of travel, conversation and thoughts, with a little action thrown in to keep it from being too dry. From here on I hope to bring more action, while still keeping plenty of travel, conversation and thoughts lol. As we dive into the politics and war, the story will become less "easy-going" I guess is the word, for our characters. I had a couple people with concerns that this would be a "Jon is perfect, Jon gets handed everything story." That is not what I am going for in the slightest, and this story has barely scratched the surface of my plans, so please just hold on, and have a little faith. I want to write something that feels real to me, and with character development that makes sense, you may not always agree with it, and that's fine, everyone has their own opinions, but I do have my reasons for taking characters in whatever direction I do. No character is black and white, good or evil . . . except maybe Joffrey lol. (Let's face it, he's a little shit.) Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you continue to do so as we get into the good stuff! :D


	9. Sansa II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon's letter arrives in King's Landing . . .

"Get up, little bird," a rough voice ordered.

Sansa groggily opened her eyes to see the hard, unsmiling face of the Hound hovering over her. "Why?" she asked sleepily. No one had sought out her company for weeks, not since _that _day. The court she had been ordered to attend was cancelled by Joffrey himself, and some of the servants gossiped that he spent most of the day in front of that man on the wall. Ever since then nobody bothered her, only offering simple courtesies if they happened across one another, but Sansa didn't mind. She took all her meals in her chambers, and spent a lot of time reading. Sometimes, if the day was nice, she would walk the gardens, smelling the flowers and listening to the birds sing. On those days she would somehow always end up in front of the heart tree, praying to the old gods for her family. She would pray for safe travels for her sister and father, for her two brothers, young and helplessly innocent, and for her mother and eldest brother's safety. Joffrey used to be all she prayed for, that he would love her and that the gods would grant them many healthy children. _No longer. _No matter how hard she tried, she no longer saw her golden prince, just the flaxen-haired _boy_ who forced her to look upon such horrors.

"His Grace commands your presence in the throne room." The Hound crossed the room and threw open the window, momentarily blinding Sansa.

"_Why?_" she repeated, hoping he would just go away. She wanted more sleep, and to eat and read in peace, or to visit the gardens and listen to the birds. The sun shone brightly through the now open window, not a cloud in sight. _It will be a good day to visit the gardens, _she concluded.

"Dress or your maids will do it while I hold you down. Your choice, little bird."

Sansa wanted to laugh. It was anything but _her _choice, she had no choice left to her. The last few weeks had been a dream, and whether she liked it or not, it was time to wake up. She kicked off the sheet and got out of bed. If she was to face Joffrey, then it would be on her own two feet, with her head held high, not thrown over the Hound's shoulder. "Fine, send the bedmaids in and I'll dress."

The Hound nodded. "Be quick about it."

He left and the bedmaids entered carrying large buckets of warm water. "Which dress will you require, my lady?" one of them asked after the tub was full.

"Hmm, set a few of them out and I'll choose once I'm through bathing, thank you."

"At once, my lady."

Sansa stepped from her sleeping gown and climbed into the tub. She washed her body and hair quickly, yet thoroughly. The Hound had said to be quick and she intended to do just that, but to appear in front of Joffrey unclean would anger him, and Sansa had seen what happened when he was angered.

When she was finished, the maids toweled her dry, then brushed her hair until it all settled perfectly down her back. There were several dresses arranged on the bed but Sansa knew immediately which one to pick. She had last worn it to the Sept of Baelor, and it seemed fitting that she should wear it to face Joffrey for the first time since that day. Fear began to creep its way in once the dress was on.

"The longer you take, the worse it will be," the Hound said from the doorway.

"The worse _what _will be?" she asked, perturbed. The Hound said nothing, angering Sansa further. She hadn't done _anything _wrong. "Tell me what I did to anger the king," she ordered.

The Hound chuckled and left the room, leaving Sansa no choice but to follow. She made sure to walk only on his right, avoiding the burned side of his face. "I apologize for speaking to you in such a way, Sandor. It was uncalled for. Joffrey requesting my presence surprised me. Did he order you not to tell me, or do you not know?" she asked as they walked the long halls of Maegor's Holdfast. He said nothing, just kept moving. _Why won't he answer me? _Sansa asked herself, fearing the worst.

They left the holdfast behind and started up the steps. By the time they passed the Tower of the Hand, Sansa began to realize that the keep was empty save for a few gold cloaks patrolling the walls, and the occasional stable boy or serving girl going about their work. "Where is everyone?" she asked to no one in particular.

"He's holding court," the Hound replied.

"_Now?_" Sansa had expected to face the king alone, with only his Kingsguard present. More fear wormed it's way into her stomach, making her feel as if she might retch.

He let out a bark of laughter. "The king holds court whenever he bloody well pleases."

"But I've done nothing wrong . . . I've been good, I swear it."

"Have you, little bird?"

Sansa wanted to say more, to demand the answers she sought, but the throne room appeared and the question became pointless. All the answers she wanted was right behind those doors, and some she likely didn't want. _Joffrey is behind those doors, _she thought and a small glimmer of hope appeared. Perhaps he could be her golden prince once more, to take her on walks through the garden, or rides through the Kingswood, and to love her forever. _Please let it be so_, she prayed to any god who may be listening. The glimmer faded as the gold cloaks at the doors pushed them open. She walked inside and looked around the faces of the assembled people. Sansa saw several that looked confused, and some that were angered, and even a few that showed hints of sadness_. What is happening? _She averted her eyes, no longer able to look at the sea of emotion before her.

"Lady Sansa Stark, Your Grace," Petyr Baelish announced. He made Sansa uncomfortable, always talking about her mother and giving her odd looks.

Sansa walked the length of the throne room, keeping her head bowed respectfully, afraid of what she might find on _his _face, then knelt before the small council's table. Only then did she look up, first at the small council whose faces were unreadable, each more so than the last, until finally she reached her king . . . and he was smiling . . . at _her_. Sansa felt a familiar fluttering in her tummy and the glimmer of hope reappeared, only now it was shining and bright and magnificent, like the sun. _My golden prince has returned, _Sansa thought, cheerfully. But then she noticed something . . . something she had never noticed before. He wasn't smiling _at_ her, he was smiling _through _her. It was a farce, a meaningless pleasantry. _Maybe they all were . . . and I was just too stupid to notice._ Sansa searched for her golden prince in those beautiful green eyes, but found only smugness and cruelty.

"Lady Sansa, you have committed treason against the Iron Throne. What say you?"

Her attention snapped back to the small council. _Treason? _She wasn't even sure who had spoken but she couldn't have heard them correctly. _It has to be a mistake . . . I wouldn't._ "Apologies, but I must have misheard you. What did you say?"

Lord Varys stood. "You have committed treason, my lady."

Sansa gulped. "I don't understand . . . I am loyal to my beloved Joffrey."

Queen Cersei took a sip from her goblet before she said, "_and yet you betrayed him._"

The way she spoke frightened Sansa. "I wouldn't," she protested. "What could I have done?"

"Show her the letter," the king commanded. "I wish to see her face when she reads it."

Varys brought her the parchment and her jaw dropped as soon as she began to read. _I am the last scion of House Targaryen, trueborn son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Lady Lyanna of the House Stark. _She almost dropped the letter at that, but just barely managed to maintain composure and continue reading. _Done in the Sight of the Old Gods and the New, under the sign and seal of Jon of the House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. _

_There's no way . . . this can't be true. Father always told us that Jon was his. _"Lady Sansa, how could you commit such treason against our king, someone you claim is your beloved?" Varys asked in an affronted tone.

Sansa dropped to her knees and a few tears fell. "_I didn't know_, I promise. Father lied to us all . . . or this letter is a lie. Jon _is_ a bastard."

"_Of course_ it's a lie," Joffrey agreed. "The Targaryens are _gone_, either killed or living like the _rats_ they are in Essos."

"Then how did I commit treason, Your Grace?" she asked, scared. _I didn't know . . . but I wish I had._

Cersei smiled, but not her typical warm, loving smile that made Sansa feel safe. No, this smile was filled with venom and triumph. "Your _treason_ is not informing the king of this threat so that he might've stopped Lord Stark from escaping."

"What do you mean? How could I have informed the king of something that I _didn't know_?"

Cersei's smile widened. "But you did know, Lady Sansa, and there is proof."

"No, no I didn't. I wouldn't have hid it. I told you of my father's plans to send myself and Arya from the city and you had our whole household executed. I haven't seen my friend, Jeyne Poole, for several moons . . ." _Why are they doing this to me?_ The court gasped and began talking among themselves.

"Silence!" Joffrey shouted. "You may continue, Mother."

"You knew of Lord Stark's plan to proclaim his bastard a Targaryen before he was imprisoned, and made no mention of it when you told us of his other plans. As for Lord Stark's household, they attacked the guards sent to inform them of their lord's treason. And the Lady Jeyne Poole is quite safe . . . under the king's protection." Cersei nodded at Lord Janos, who stood and left the throne room. "In fact, she is the one who informed us of your treason."

_Why would Jeyne lie to them? _Sansa asked herself, despaired. _She wouldn't, Joffrey must have tortured her . . . _

"Lady Jeyne of House Poole, Your Grace," Littlefinger announced with a smile.

Her best friend entered the throne room next to Lord Janos in a dress of red silk. Sansa expected to see bruises and broken bones, but Jeyne was unmarred and walked with her head held high. _How could you betray me, _Sansa opened her mouth to ask but no words came out.

"My lords . . . my queen . . . Your Grace." Jeyne bowed her head in turn to each of the small council, then to the queen, and finally at Joffrey.

The High Septon went to Jeyne and had her swear to only speak the truth. _How funny, _Sansa thought bitterly, _since every word about to come from her mouth is a lie. _Sansa had always found great solace in the Faith of the Seven, just as her mother had taught her. But Septa Mordane was dead, and the sept in the Red Keep felt hollow and unsettling ever since _that _day. That was when she started praying to the old gods. There was a calm to sitting by the heart tree that Sansa had never felt inside of any sept, including the one at her home in Winterfell. Judging by the letter she held in her hands, they also answered prayers better than the Seven.

"My lady, you bore witness to the treason committed by Sansa Stark. Tell our good king what happened," Varys prodded softly, like Jeyne might run off at any moment.

Jeyne looked nervous and kept glancing between the different small council members. "Your Grace, I." She paused to look at Sansa and whispered, "_I'm sorry._" The words brought no comfort to Sansa, if anything, they only unnerved her further. _What is she going to say?_

"Jeyne, dear, there is no need to be frightened," the queen assured her. "Tell the king what happened."

"I was trying to find my father at the Tower of the Hand when I overheard Lord Eddard Stark speaking with his daughters."

"When was this?" Littlefinger asked, still smiling.

"Shortly after the conclusion of the Hand's tourney, my lord."

"And what did you hear?"

"Lord Stark was telling Arya and Sansa of a scheme to sit a false Targaryen upon the throne."

Varys gasped. "_Surely,_ that can't be true. Lord Stark had been planning to depose Robert since the Hand's tourney?"

"Yes, my lord, and longer still. In that same conversation he revealed the true reason he came south. He said he was tired of being mocked as an honorable northern fool and would _show them all _when he took the throne for himself. The false Targaryen is none other than the Bastard of Winterfell, Jon Snow."

The court began chattering loudly amongst themselves, speaking so loud it was impossible to hear what Jeyne said next. Sansa was all but condemned, and she knew it. Jeyne was a northern lady who followed the Seven and swore to tell the truth before the High Septon himself. _They have every reason to believe her . . ._

"SILENCE!" Joffrey shouted above the voices. When the court settled, he spoke to Jeyne in that same sweet voice that had made Sansa fall in love with him. "Please continue, my lady, there will be no further interruptions, I promise."

Sansa almost burst out laughing when a strange thought entered her mind. Arya had once said that Joffrey sounded like a girl, and she had chastised her for saying so. _How right she was, _Sansa thought, amused. _If I ever see her again, I'll have to admit that I was wrong. _She prayed to the old gods that she might be reunited with Arya, but with how the trial was going it wasn't likely she would see another sunrise, much less her sister.

"Thank you, Your Grace. The false Targaryen that Lord Stark said he planned to crown was Jon Snow, the Bastard of Winterfell. He would act as a means to bring allies to Lord Stark's cause. Lord Stark planned to rule through him as Hand and gain the power and riches he has always lusted after."

"I believe you," Varys stated, "but why wait so long to come before the king with this information. Surely you had plenty of opportunity to do so."

Jeyne covered her face with her hands. When she moved them away, a tear was rolling down her face. "What I heard scared me, my lord, and I wasn't certain that I had heard them correctly. So the next day, I was eating my midday meal with Sansa in her room and asked about what I overheard. Sansa, she . . . she pulled my hair and put a knife against my throat. She said that if I dared to try and tell anyone that she would cut my throat and lie that I had attacked her . . . and that everyone would believe her because she's a Stark and I'm just a steward's whelp." Jeyne broke down in earnest then, her whole body shaking with the force of her sobs. Sansa wondered whether the tears were yet another lie, or if perhaps the weight of her lies was crushing her. She hoped it was the latter.

Cersei went to Jeyne and wrapped her in a hug, drawing loving sighs from the court and making Sansa want to gag. "You are much more than a steward's whelp, my lady," Joffrey assured her with mock affection. "Thank you for having the courage to stand up and expose the traitor in our midst. You may go." Joffrey turned his attention to Sansa and his smile changed into a sneer. "_You. _I loved you . . . and you betrayed me." Joffrey scratched his chin. "The punishment for treason is death, but I am a merciful king and will grant you a chance for leniency."

_Subservience is survival. _"Your mercy is undeserved, Your Grace. What would you have of me?" Sansa noticed that Cersei had went back to her seat, but Jeyne still stood next to her.

Joffrey smirked. It was so full of malice that Sansa shivered at the sight. "First, you will admit that the letter is a plan concocted by Eddard Stark to lay claim to the throne. Then, you will denounce your family as traitors and rebels before the court. _Today._ Only after you have done this will you be granted mercy. As punishment for these further crimes, Winterfell is hereby seized by the crown, and will be granted to a loyal lord when the pretenders are defeated."

_Winterfell is my home, best of luck seizing it from Father. _Sansa wanted to scream. Trick or not, she hoped Jon won, if only to look upon Joffrey's face when he realized that he had been defeated. Those thoughts didn't help her now though, not while she was surrounded by men loyal to Joffrey, in the middle of King's Landing. "It is a simple matter to speak the truth, Your Grace," she lied. Thoughts of her direwolf, Lady, sprung into her head. _I lied for you once before, Joffrey, and someone I cared for paid the price. Subservience is survival, _she reminded herself, bitterly. "I plotted with my father, Lord Eddard Stark, and my sister, Arya, to depose Robert and place a false Targaryen on the throne. Father was tired of being slighted by the lords of the court, and wished to show them that he could play the _game_, as he called it, better than anyone. Jon Targaryen is a farce, he is the Bastard of Winterfell, Jon Snow. I denounce my family as the traitors and rebels that they are, and beg forgiveness for my treason in sight of gods and men." One day, she hoped that she would be able to beg the forgiveness of her father and sister, but they were not here, Joffrey was.

Cersei smiled warmly. "Your sweet words move us all. I know that you were just obeying your treacherous father, and I'm sure you regret your actions dearly. Lord Janos, please escort Lady Sansa back to her chambers, and place guards at her door."

"No," Joffrey interjected. "I said I would grant her leniency, not absolve her of her crimes."

Cersei turned back to her son and stared him down, but Joffrey didn't falter once. "_Fine_," she conceded, looking away. "Just don't kill _her_." He nodded, smiling triumphantly. Not many in the court heard her words, and less cared, but Sansa heard, and so did Jeyne.

"I'm so sorry, Sansa," Jeyne whispered. "The queen promised no harm would come to you. She said they have my father, and that if I said those things we would be released."

"If only that mattered," Sansa replied. This had been Joffrey's plan all along, she realized, whether Jeyne had lied or not they would've always ended up _right here_.

"_I'm sorry,_" Jeyne repeated, crying anew. Two gold cloaks came and escorted her from the throne room, back to wherever they had been keeping her all this time.

"The small council is dismissed," Joffrey announced. "I will see to Lady Sansa's punishment personally." Lord Varys looked to Cersei, unsure, but the queen shook her head and he subsided. That was the end of any defiance from the small council.

The court began to rise, intending to follow them out. "No!" Joffrey shouted. "The court is not dismissed. I want _you all_ to see what happens to traitors." The lords and ladies sat once more, albeit hesitantly.

Sansa stood. If she was going to be punished, then she would take it standing up, not kneeling before a _monster_.

"My lady rises," Joffrey stated, amused. "Meryn, see if you can fix that."

Ser Meryn of the Kingsguard detached himself from his sworn brothers and marched up to Sansa. "Not the face," Joffrey ordered. "I like her pretty."

Sansa looked Joffrey right in the face and braced herself. Ser Meryn drove his mailed fist straight into her stomach. Her breath was forced out of her, and she fell to the floor, gasping for air, unable to remain on her feet. Lady Lollys Stokeworth shrieked and fainted. It felt as if someone had driven a sword straight through her, but she managed to struggle back to her knees and looked up at Joffrey once more. _You won't break me._

Joffrey smiled and rested his chin on a fist. "Again," he ordered, as easily as one would order a tankard of ale.

Ser Meryn moved behind Sansa and her back exploded in pain, sending her to floor once more. Her head hit the floor and the room began spinning. The court gasped. One brave lord shouted, "_Stop!_" but he quickly shut up when Joffrey turned his gaze onto him. Sansa put her hands beneath her, but before she could rise another kick took her in the side, rolling her onto her back. _Gods, just kill me and be done with it, Joffrey. _Everything hurt and no one would dare to help her. Every time she took a breath, it felt as though she was being trampled on by a horse. When she tried to rise, the pain drove her back to the floor. Tears streamed down her face, blurring the room. Pain rang through her head like the city bells had all been rung at once, right next to her.

A strong pair of hands lifted her from the ground and set her on her feet. "Your Grace, this is enough. Lady Sansa has learned her lesson many times over," a kind voice stated firmly.

Sansa wanted to voice her agreement but when she opened her mouth, the words came out as coughs.

"I had thought so as well," Joffrey agreed, "but now I think at least one more is required. One in obedience, Ser Arys, and it's for the both of you. Let her go." Joffrey paused and grinned. "Or you will be charged with treason, and there will be no mercy."

"Yes, Your Grace," Ser Arys replied, defeated.

He let go of Sansa and she managed to stand for a few seconds before her knees gave way. _I won't break. _She struggled back to her knees and looked at Joffrey. His beautiful green eyes were alight with cruelty, and his mouth was twisted into a strange semblance of a smile.

"_Now hit her_, Ser Arys," Joffrey commanded.

"Your Grace, I-" Ser Arys started.

"Meryn," Joffrey interrupted, "if Ser Arys does not comply . . . _kill him."_

"Gladly," Ser Meryn responded, drawing his sword.

Ser Arys moved in front of Sansa and looked down at her with pity. "I'm sorry, child," he said, pulling back his fist.

Sansa saw the blow coming, aimed straight at her face. _Not the face, _she silently pleaded, _Joffrey will be furious. _When his fist connected, there was only the briefest moment of pain, then darkness. She welcomed it like an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know following Arya I there was a lot of controversy about whether Sansa deserved to be beat/killed for what she did. I would like to just state that this was not done from any hate for the character or what she's did in those chapters. I actually quite liked Sansa's character in the books, despite her character flaws. I would also like to assure everyone that she is alive and not seriously harmed, because the next King's Landing chapter isn't until chapter 12 and I didn't want for it to stay hidden for weeks. This was just canon-typical Joffrey doing canon-typical things, and that is what I have been trying to maintain all along, canon-typical given the changed circumstances around them. I thought about having Sansa be defiant in the face of Joffrey's demands, but I honestly saw no reasonable reason why he wouldn't just kill her if she defied him in front of the court. Thank you all for reading, and the next chapter will be Ser Arthur II.


	10. Arthur II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shadow has fallen over Castle Black in the wake of Jon's letter being sent. It is up to Arthur to set things right before they depart for the south.

Arthur stared straight into Lord Stark's eyes, not wavering once. "You told _Varys_," he gritted out. "Of all the people in King's Landing, you trusted _him _with Jon's identity." He couldn't believe the sheer stupidity of Lord Stark. Arthur had his suspicions that the Spider had been the one to free him, but he had hoped he was wrong.

Barristan stepped between them. "Arthur, we both know that the rot in Aerys' reign began with Varys, but something has changed. He seemed genuine in his want to help, and his reasons why made sense."

Arthur stepped away and leaned up against the wall of his sleeping cell to hold himself up. It had been a rough two days, writing Jon's proclamation and making plans. Although it was mainly him, Ser Barristan, and Lord Stark speaking on plans in passing. As soon as the letter was finished, Jon barely spoke to his councilors, spending most of his time with his uncle, or by himself. If Arya would allow him to be alone, that is. The girl was every bit the she-wolf that Lyanna had been, perhaps even a bit more so. She refused to let Jon sulk, constantly forcing him to talk with her, or to train her. Still, Jon hid from his feelings, pushing himself harder and harder. It wasn't healthy, Arthur knew, but Jon would barely speak to him, much less listen to him. "He always _seems _genuine," Arthur reasoned. "He'll help so long as it suits him, but won't hesitate to turn on Jon the moment he no longer fulfills Varys' needs. He-"

"I don't trust easily any longer, Ser Arthur," a voice interrupted. Arthur turned and his heart dropped. Jon stood in the doorway with that same ice cold look he had been giving Arthur and Lord Stark for days. Arya stood at his side looking much the same. "Lord Varys has given us no cause to doubt him, as of yet. You have heard Lord Stark and Ser Barristan, something has obviously changed in the man since you last knew him. We have few allies, and we can't afford to lose the ones we have."

His words were spoken with authority and wisdom, but Arthur saw the truth in his eyes. It was the same look Jon would get whenever they had spoken about his mother. _He's lost, and I helped to make him this way. _The thought killed him a little more each time he looked into Jon's eyes. "Your Grace," Arthur said, kneeling. "Apologies, you are correct, it has been many years since I last knew Varys."

"We leave at dawn," Jon stated, ignoring Arthur's words. "We have been here far too long, and the Lannisters are not idle. The Lord Steward is preparing the supplies for our journey now." Then he left, and Arya followed after him without ever saying a word.

"His Grace has found what he needed from Maester Aemon," Barristan commented.

Lord Stark nodded his agreement. "Dawn it is." He left as well, likely headed for his own sleeping cell. Eddard had spent much of his time alone, but Arya did not keep him from it like she did Jon. The only person that went to see him was the boy, Gendry, or Ser Barristan on occasion, and only ever briefly.

"Someone needs to speak with Jon," Arthur said, worried.

"Is there a need, Arthur, or is it just that you wish to speak with him," Barristan said, smiling knowingly.

Arthur never realized how much he missed his old friend until they had been reunited. "Both," he admitted.

"Then go to him. Jon and you shared a special friendship, one that came from respect and understanding. But the person you knew was Lord Stark's bastard, Jon Snow, and while he is still that boy, he is also changed in ways. He is hurt, and yet he's not allowing himself to feel it. Arya and I have tried to get him to open up, but ever since that first day, he acts as though he always knew the truth, and that it doesn't affect him."

Arthur nodded and left the room, walking briskly to catch up to Jon. "Jon," he shouted across the courtyard.

Jon and Arya halted and let him approach. Ghost bared his teeth, but Jon rubbed his head and the direwolf calmed. "Yes, Ser Arthur, what can I help you with?" he asked, coolly.

"I would like to train, Your Grace."

Jon blinked and flexed his hand. "Ser Barristan would be more than willing, I'm sure."

"Pardon . . . I would like to train with you, Your Grace."

Jon flexed his hand again. "I . . ."

"Would be most honored," Arya finished.

Arthur didn't hesitate and went to get two training swords, though he noticed Jon and Arya arguing in hushed tones. When he returned, Jon unstrapped Longclaw, passed it Arya, took the offered sword, and nodded. "It would be an honor to continue our training, Ser Arthur."

"The honor is mine, Your Grace." Arthur readied himself and they began circling each other. Jon took a half-hearted swing at Arthur's left, which he blocked easily. "Do you expect to beat the Lannisters swinging like that? Come at me!"

Jon scowled and thrust at Arthur's stomach, which was batted aside almost contemptuously. He feinted right and thrust once more, and was once again batted to the side. "Have you been teaching Arya _this_, Your Grace? I sincerely hope not."

Jon sent three rapid strikes at Arthur, first at the head, then at the legs, and lastly at his sword hand. Each was easily blocked. "Is this how Jon Snow fights? If so, then he had best stay here and swear those vows like he wanted."

"I am not a _Snow_," Jon gritted out, tightening his grip on the sword.

"You're right. Jon Snow didn't fight like a green boy holding his first sword. I don't know _who_ stands before me now. Do you?" Arthur feinted left and swung right. Blindingly fast, he slammed the flat of his blade into Jon's side, prompting a grunt. "Come at me!"

Jon launched into a flurry of blows. Each block coming easier than the one before until Jon stepped back, flushed and panting.

Arthur grinned. "Better," he said before launching into his own attack. Arthur pushed Jon across the courtyard, gaining ground with each swing. Jon was able to blocked most of them, but an occasional swing got through, taking him in the ribs, or the arms, or the legs. Jon tried to counterattack when another swing took him in the ribs, swinging his own sword at Arthur, but he was much too slow. Arthur stepped forward, grabbed Jon's wrist with his off-hand and twisted until the blade fell. "Dead," Arthur stated, staring into his eyes.

"Well fought, Ser Arthur, I almost had you."

"Don't lie to yourself, Jon, you never came close," Arthur said, turning away.

"I don't need too, _Daeron_. I have you and my Hand for that, don't I?"

Arthur turned back to see the pure, unbridled rage upon his face. _Better than no emotion. It's a start. _"Aye, I lied to you. It's something I never wanted to do, and will always regret having done, but I thought it best to keep you safe. Now you hide from your emotions because they frighten you, and I understand. I lived as Daeron Snow because it was easier then facing my failures to the people I swore to protect."

"I don't hide from anything, Arthur." Jon picked up his sword. "And we're not done training."

"Lyanna would be disappointed in you, Jon. I know I am."

"DON'T SAY HER NAME!" Jon roared, leaping forward.

The blows came hard and fast, and for a moment Arthur lost his balance before finding his rhythm once more. "She was my friend, Jon, just as you were," he said, blocking an overhead strike.

"I was friends with Daeron Snow, I don't know you."

_"You do,"_ Arthur insisted. "My story was false, but who I am was never a lie." Arthur batted aside another thrust and stepped away. "Your head is clouded, and that _will _get you killed. Look at the way you're fighting. Your stance is horrid, and your swings aren't even coming close to getting through my guard. Rhaegar and Lyanna died for their love, and you are the living representation of that love. Don't do this to yourself, Jon. _Please _. . . if _you _die for your stubbornness, then their sacrifice was for nothing, and I can't allow that."

Tears burned a trail down Jon's cheeks, but his face portrayed naught of his pain. He approached Arthur, sword at the ready. He raised the sword and hammered it into Arthur's guard three times, then dropped it and collapsed to his knees. The wall Jon had built around his heart broke then, sending him into a fit of sobs. Arthur got to his knees and hugged Jon, a few tears falling from his own eyes. Jon wrapped his arms around Arthur's neck and cried into his cloak. "I'm s-sorry Arthur . . . I thought I could hide it away. To kill the boy, just like Aemon told me I should. But I can't . . . I'm not strong enough." He broke into a fresh bout of tears. "This whole time my mother has been at Winterfell . . . and I never knew. I used to have dreams of the crypts . . . that there was something waiting for me there . . . and now I know it was my mother this whole time."

Arthur patted his back and pulled away to look Jon in the eyes. "These emotions were always going to come out, Jon, there is no hiding from the pain you feel. Better to get it out now, while we're mostly safe, then when we're in the South, where your enemies will exploit any weakness they can find. Now, come with me, we need to speak with Maester Aemon." Arthur grabbed Jon beneath the arms and helped him rise.

Jon hugged Arthur after they got to their feet. "Thank you," he whispered into Arthur's shoulder.

"Think nothing of it," Arthur said, smiling warmly.

Jon wiped his eyes and stood up straighter. When he smiled, it reached his eyes and Arthur could not have been happier to see it. "Barristan was right . . ."

"He typically is," Arthur commented, still smiling.

Jon chuckled. "Aye, but he told me that you had only good intentions, and I hid from that as well, not wanting to face the truth."

"What truth would that be?"

"That you have always been one of my seven, even if I refused to see it."

"And always will be, in deed if not in name."

Jon took Longclaw from Arya and strapped it across his back. He seemed to stand almost taller now, Arthur noticed, as if a great weight had been lifted off him. "I will name you and Barristan both when we reach Winterfell, you have my word."

"I believe you," Arthur said, feeling better than he had in several days. "Now let's go see your uncle."

Maester Aemon's steward, Clydas, admitted them, and Samwell scurried from the room at the first sight of the trio. _He's scared of Jon now, _Arthur thought_. _Sam had never known a Targaryen king before, and now he found out he not only knew one but was good friends with one. _Frightening stuff indeed, _Arthur mused. The boy had no doubt grown up hearing the tales of the Mad King and his monster of a son. Arthur looked forward to breaking those fabricated stories to bits while in the south. Well . . . the ones about Rhaegar, at least.

The table was littered with open books on Targaryen history, open to various pages. Arthur spotted one that said something about Daeron the Young Dragon, and another on the black brides of Maegor the Cruel. "So this is what you've been up to, Jon?"

Jon flushed and shuffled his feet. "Um, yes, I wanted to know more about my family. Uncle Aemon and Sam have been assisting me with learning as much as I can."

"And what did you learn?" Arthur asked, somewhat intrigued.

Arya spoke up then. "That we should all thankful Jon's coin landed on the greatness side."

Arthur laughed. "Very true, my lady. Now Aemon, Jon tells me that you gave him some advice. Kill the boy, you told him, and Jon took that to mean that he should bury his emotions. Surely that is not what you meant, is it?"

Aemon looked shocked. "No, no, that's not what I meant in the slightest." He motioned for Jon, who unstrapped Longclaw, set it against a shelf, and slid into the chair next to his uncle. Aemon reached out and grasped Jon's hands, looking into his grey eyes through his own milky, unseeing ones. "If anything it is the exact opposite," he said, giving Jon's hands a gentle squeeze. "It takes a man to face his emotions, and to overcome them. What's happened to you would crush men thrice your age. Is that why you've been acting strange?"

Jon looked down at his feet. "Yes," he admitted, a single tear falling from his eye. Arya walked over and wrapped her arms around Jon's neck, but said nothing, to Arthur's surprise.

"I'm glad that's cleared up," Arthur said. "I'm afraid I must take my leave. There is still something I need to do before retiring for the night."

Jon shrugged from Arya's hug and stood. "What is it? Perhaps I can be of assistance."

_I very much doubt you'd want to, if you knew. _"It is just a small matter, Jon, nothing to be concerned about."

"I should help," Jon insisted, crossing the room.

Arthur sighed. "I am going to see Lord Stark," he said, hesitantly.

"Ah," Jon said, and the lost look reappeared in his eyes, albeit just a shadow.

"Jon . . . we need him. So far his House is the only one declared to you, and he has to convince his bannermen to follow you as well. He can't do that as he is presently. The man barely speaks, barely eats, and he looks as though he hasn't slept since he arrived. That can't persist or he may as well have remained locked up in King's Landing."

Jon looked away and shook his head. When he turned back, he no longer looked lost. "You're right, Arthur, we do need Lord Stark, and not as he is now. And you are also correct that I am not ready to forgive him . . ." Jon took a few deep breaths, steadying himself. "Go," he said, walking back to his seat and sitting down once more. "I will remain here with my uncle, and learn more about my House."

Arthur heard footsteps from behind him as he left the room. He stopped in the hall and turned back.

"I wasn't following you," Arya said, biting her lip.

"Of course not, my lady," he said, fighting the smile that threatened. "But . . . if you had been, would it be because you wish to see your father."

Arya looked down and twisted a lock of hair between her fingers. "Yes . . ." She paused and looked back up from the floor. "I never noticed that stuff about Father. It wasn't till you told Jon about it that I realized what I had done. I know what he did was wrong, lying to Jon and stuff, but he's still my father, and I should have helped him. I should've . . ." Arya sentence cut off as she began to cry softly.

Arthur got down on both knees and put a finger beneath her chin, lifting it so she looked him in the eyes. _Gods, she looks like a younger Lyanna. _He couldn't help but think back on the night the news came . . . the news that Rhaegar had died.

His sister, Ashara Dayne, had been the one to send the message. The parchment was stained with old tears, blurring the ink in some places but the words were clear. _Rhaegar is dead . . . killed by Robert Baratheon on the Trident. _Ten words, written on a piece of spare parchment in tear-stained ink, and the tower of joy transformed into the tower of sorrow. Lyanna had been inconsolable for days, locked away in her's and Rhaegar's chambers. She didn't eat, and her wailing could be heard even from outside the tower. Arthur and his sworn brothers were not much better off, though they dealt with their grief in a much different way; training until their hands were cracked and raw, and their bodies were covered with deep purple bruises. Finally after four days, Lyanna emerged from her chambers and wolfed down a whole loaf of bread, looking almost feral.

Arthur had approached her warily, unsure how she might react. "Princess," he started, worried, "are you alright?"

Lyanna set down the bread and turned to Arthur, her eyes filled with rage and deep anguish. "_No_," she choked out, placing a hand protectively over her swelling stomach. "As soon as my babe is born, I will have my revenge, Arthur. Robert Baratheon will live just long enough to rue the day he murdered my husband."

"He will," Arthur swore. "Whether it takes us a year, or a hundred, we will make him pay, Princess."

Arthur was jolted from his thoughts as Arya slammed into him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "You did nothing wrong, my lady," he assured, placing an arm around her waist. "None of us have been at our best since that day, and that's why I'm going to see your father. To beat the Lannisters we will all need to be at our bests, and even then . . ." He paused, fighting off the urge to lie. "Even then it may not be enough."

Arya ripped from the hug and slapped him. "_What are you saying? _Jon _will _win. He'll have the North, and the southern Houses will join him too."

Arthur smiled, despite his burning cheek. "War is never simple, my lady, and below the Neck, loyalty does not oft come without cost. We will have to be smart if we wish to see Jon win, and we will be smart, won't we?"

Arya nodded and bit her lip. "I'm sorry for hitting you . . ."

Arthur laughed. "I've taken worse wounds than a slap, my lady, I assure you. Now let's go see your father, aye?"

Arya huffed. "I'm a wolf, not a lady, and yes, let's go." She stood and walked past Arthur as if it had been her plan all along to see Lord Stark.

_A wolf indeed, _he mused as he rose and followed after her. They walked in silence until reaching Lord Stark's cell in Hardin's Tower. Arthur made to knock, expecting the door to be barred, but Arya ducked beneath his arm and pushed through it.

Lord Stark sat up with a start and peered at them through his grey, half-lidded, bloodshot eyes. "Arya," he said in greeting, his despair all but written across his face.

"Father," Arya replied, wrapping her father in a hug. He seemed taken aback for a moment before closing his eyes and returning the hug. Arya kissed his cheek before pulling away and looking him the eyes. Then she slapped him . . . "It's time to stop sulking, Father, Jon needs you."

"Although her delivery leaves much to be desired, she is correct, Lord Stark."

Lord Stark looked up at him for the first time before looking away once more. "_No,_ he doesn't," he muttered, dejectedly.

Arya raised her hand to slap him again, but Arthur caught her by the wrist and held fast. Arthur shook his head as she tried fruitlessly to pry his hand off. "That won't help him."

"Let her, Arthur, I deserve it."

Arthur let her wrist go and looked down on Lord Stark. It was plain to see that he was a broken man, but broken men died in war, and their war was only just beginning. "Maybe so," he agreed, "but it won't help you, will it?" Lord Stark offered no answer, so Arthur spoke to Arya. "Do you see, my lady? He needs to be made to see, but violence will do us no good here."

Arya nodded. "Jon _does _need you, why else would he name you his Hand?"

"He _needs_ the North . . . not me, and I'll convince them, as I promised him," he replied, unmoved.

_If only violence could make him see reason. _"Look at yourself, Lord Stark," Arthur said, gesturing at him.

Lord Stark glanced down and shook his head. "I see no issue."

Arthur scoffed. "_Really look _. . . you may not, but everyone else does. You barely eat or drink, you sulk about like a wounded pup, and I'd be willing to wager that you sleep very little, if at all. In short, you look like shit."

Lord Stark looked into Arthur's eyes for a moment and a flicker of anger appeared, but just as quick, it was gone and he returned to staring at the floor.

Arthur wasn't done with him yet. "What did you expect would happen, Lord Stark? That Jon would learn that you've lied to him his entire life _and what _. . . just forgive you and move on? Mayhaps we'll just travel leisurely to King's Landing and collect the Lannisters surrender as well. We'll sing songs and dance at feasts, and Jon will get married for love, not an alliance, and have many strong sons and beautiful daughters. NO!" Arthur drew his sword, startling Lord Stark and making Arya back away. He gestured at his sword. "Life is not a song, Lord Stark, and war is won by these. And yes, Jon's naming you his Hand was a political move, but that does not mean it is the only reason." Arthur sheathed his sword, waiting for a reply.

"I know what war is, Arthur," Lord Stark gritted out, "and I know the Lannister won't surrender." He sighed. "Coming here, I didn't expect much. I suppose Jon's reaction was better than I had assumed it would be. It's just . . . Robert was my friend, and I let that blind me to what he was doing. Now we're at war, and I'm finally on the right side after all these years, but everything is different. When I rode in the rebellion, the purpose was clear; save my sister from her kidnapper and depose the Mad King. What I did to Jon was for me, as much as him. I got to hide from the fact that the whole damn war was a lie, and I had fought on the wrong side. There is no hiding anymore, Arthur . . ." Arya went and sat down beside her father, then wrapped an arm around his waist. 

Arthur was surprised by the outpouring of emotion, and failed to find the words to respond immediately. _How can I fault him for hiding when I did the same . . . _"You're right, Lord Stark, there can be no more hiding . . . for either of us. I allowed you to take Jon because I felt it the safest option, but I took that vow of silence for my own selfish reasons, and it was a mistake. But those things are done, and no matter how much we agonize over what we might've done differently, the past is just that . . . past. What Jon said earlier is the truth, we have few allies, and he needs the ones he has. Jon is dealing with the fact that the only father he has ever known helped to murder his true father, but he still needs you, even if he's not ready to forgive you yet."

"Robert killed Rhaegar, not I," Lord Stark protested, weakly.

"It doesn't matter," Arthur stated, pointedly. "The rebellion is done, and we have our own war. So it's time to pull yourself together . . . before you fail to do the one thing Lyanna asked of you on her deathbed."

Lord Stark looked down at his daughter, who nodded slowly. He sighed. "You're right, Arthur, it is time to stop sulking."

"Thank the gods . . . I was beginning to regret catching Lady Arya's wrist," Arthur said with a smile, prompting laughter from Arya, and Lord Stark chuckled. _The shadow no longer hangs over us . . . and now we just have to win the war. _Arthur sighed and left to give the two of them some privacy.

Arthur found Barristan training in the yard and decided to grab a sword and join him. "How did it go?" Barristan asked, setting his sword down against a wall and walking over.

Arthur smiled. "Not as hard as some things, and easier than I expected. Jon is a lot like Rhaegar . . . even has the same melancholy."

Barristan laughed. "Maybe so, old friend, maybe so . . ."

Arthur looked up to the sky and noticed something that had not been there earlier. A comet streaked its way across the sky, blood red with a long tail that seemed to cover almost half the sky. "Do you see this, Barristan?" he asked, astonished.

"I would need to be blind to miss it. Perhaps it is a sign."

_Yes, but of what . . ._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be Robb II :)


	11. Robb II

Robb pushed open the doors to the Great Hall and walked in, Grey Wind following close at his heels. He looked around, taking in the situation. The Greatjon bellowed at anyone who would listen, mostly at Maege Mormont, though half his words could not be heard over the combined voices of the other lords. "Quiet!" Robb shouted to no avail. "QUIET!" he attempted to shout louder, yet still it failed to reach the lords' ears. Grey Wind laid next to where Robb stood, putting his head down on his paws.

Brynden Tully placed a hand on Robb's arm, startling him. "It's no use," he said, his face near Robb's ear. "This lot haven't shut up since your mother told them the news."

"So it was her?" Robb asked, hoping that he was jesting, and that it had been the Maester that informed the lords.

"Yes," Brynden answered, slowly nodding his head.

"Where is she? I don't see her," Robb said, his eyes searching the room.

"Gone, she left as soon as she finished reading the letter."

"Thank you, any ideas on how to get them to shut up?" Brynden only smiled and shrugged, then turned and walked out the Great Hall. _If only I could leave as well . . . but Father needs me to do this. _"Grey Wind, howl," Robb commanded.

The direwolf rose to his haunches, then threw back his head and howled. Earsplitting, yet eerily sad, Grey Wind's cry took the lords by surprise. Slowly, one by one, they quieted until only the howl remained, echoing through the rafters and against the ceiling. Finally it ended and Robb said, "That is quite enough. We will not descend into madness over this letter."

"MADNESS," the Greatjon roared, stepping from among the throng of lords to tower over Robb. "You dare speak of _madness_ when your father has crowned the grandson of the Mad King."

Robb's sword hand flexed instinctively, causing Grey Wind to advance on the Greatjon, growling. "The next time you call Jon mad, I won't be so quick to call my wolf back. Grey Wind, heel." Grey Wind retreated and sat down down beside Robb once more, though he bared his teeth at the lords. Robb rubbed his companion's head, calming him somewhat. "I have known Jon my entire life, and never once have I seen any sign of a madness within him. Has any lord visited Winterfell, and noticed otherwise? If so, I challenge them to step forward and state it for all to hear." Robb remembered the threat he issued moments before and added, "No harm will befall you, I swear it." Surprisingly, it was Dacey Mormont that stepped forward. _She assured me that she believed in Father. _"My lady," Robb started, fearful of what she might say, "you think my cousin mad?"

Dacey frowned and looked back to her mother, who nodded. She stepped towards Robb, a determined look upon her face. "No I do not, Robb. In fact, I think any man who has met your cousin and thinks him mad is a fool."

"Then why step forward, my lady, I had asked for only those that do, so that they might state their reasoning."

Dacey shrugged. "No one was coming forward, despite what some of these men were saying just moments before. So, if you'll allow it, I would like to share the story of when I first met Jon Snow, or Jon Targaryen as the case may be."

Robb smiled. "Of course, my lady, so long as no one wishes to speak to Jon's _madness _first.

The silence was deafening.

Robb nodded, and Dacey turned away from him, towards the crowd of lords. "I was seven-and-ten when I first met Jon, him not but one-and-ten. My mother and I had traveled to Winterfell to meet with Lord Eddard and discuss some business regarding Bear Island. He threw a small feast in honor of our arrival and sat us at the high table with his family. As I ate, I noticed a boy looking up at me every so often, or at least I thought he was looking at me. He looked so young and sad that I couldn't help but go and speak with him. Everyone in the North has heard of the Bastard of Winterfell, but not many had the opportunity to know him. I asked him why he kept looking at me so sad. He turned a dark shade of red and apologized repeatedly, begging my pardon. Finally he stopped and I asked him again why he was sad. He was sad because he was not allowed to sit with his siblings at the high table while there were highborns visiting. I asked him to dance with me and he graciously accepted, after making sure I had no issue dancing with a bastard. He was courteous and graceful, and he even smiled while we danced. At the end of the song, he thanked me and returned to that same table, but the sad look was gone from his face," Dacey finished with a smile and a wink at Robb, which was missed by the other lords.

"What was the point of that," Rickard Karstark said. "_So what,_ you danced with the boy. He was kind and courteous and graceful, _what of_ _it?_"

"The point is answered in the question, my lord, there _is _no point," Dacey said, pointedly. "There was not a single thing of note that happened that night. Jon Targaryen is no more mad than any of us here today."

_Thank the gods for you, Dacey Mormont._ "I grew up hearing stories of the North's love for my aunt. You even fought a war to save her. What you knew then was a lie. I can't say why my father did it, but I do know where the answers can be found. As we speak, my father rides for Winterfell, and he has asked that we join him there."

"Robb, are you saying that Lord Stark means to abandon the riverlands?" Edmure asked worriedly.

_I don't know, _Robb thought, but he could not show uncertainty now, not while the lords were actually listening to him. "The letter Jon sent says that he intends to reclaim the Iron Throne. My father sent a letter as well, stating he doesn't know if they will ride straight for Riverrun. We are to leave our men here, under the command of Edmure Tully, and ride north with a small escort so Lord Tywin does not catch wind of our movements."

"_You _expect my men to follow a southron," the Greatjon bellowed, indignant.

Robb glared at him. "I do more than expect it, my lord," he said, coldly, "I command it. The northmen that remain here will serve as a garrison, in case Tywin decides to follow in his son's footsteps and besiege Riverrun."

"When I ride back to the North, it will be to return home, not to meet your new king," the Greatjon responded. The other northmen grumbled their agreement.

"That is your choice, Greatjon, just as it was at Winterfell, and you know the consequences of such a decision. You may also choose to stay here, if you wish and nothing will happen, but why would you? I have some very pointed questions I wish to ask my father, as I'm sure all present do."

Ser Wendel Manderly stepped forward. "I would like to know why he allowed Lady Lyanna's son to grow up a bastard, so I will be accompanying you to ask him for myself."

"I'd like to know that as well, and that answer and many others can be found at Winterfell. I depart on the morrow, and I expect the same from all of you."

The lords began whispering among themselves, until finally the Greatjon stepped forward. "I'll follow you to Winterfell," he simply said before walking past Robb and out of the Great Hall.

"And I," Rickard Karstark added, following after the Greatjon.

"And us," Maege and Dacey said.

"So the bastard's a king," Theon jested, grinning. "Who would've thought? I'll ride with you, Robb."

"My brother and I would like to journey with you, my lord," Ser Stevron Frey said. "Our men can remain here with my grandson, Walder."

_Black Walder . . . _A name given for the color of the man's heart, not his beard, Robb assumed. Some of the men spoke that in the Whispering Wood, Black Walder had claimed three dozen lives and that he carved the eyes out of a man attempting to yield. This was sure to be just idle talk from the men . . . or so he hoped. "Your's and Ser Perwyn's company would be most welcome, just as I'm sure your grandson's will be here at Riverrun. Any order from my uncle is to be obeyed without question, I'd be grateful if you would impress this upon your grandson."

"Of course," Ser Stevron said, bowing his head and leaving the hall.

One by one, the lords confirmed their intention to ride with Robb before leaving. Finally, only four remained in the Great Hall, including Robb. Dacey and Maege Mormont, who approached him now, and his uncle Edmure, lingering towards the back of the hall, pacing.

"You saved my arse, my lady," Robb said, dropping all propriety and grinning widely.

"Not like to be the last time . . . or even the first time, come to think of it. There was that man outside Riverrun," Dacey responded, returning his grin with one of her own.

"Yes, and just as then, I would've been dead in the water if not for you."

"My daughter's story convinced them to ride to Winterfell, but that's mostly in part to their curiosity. Make no mistake, that anger still remains, however well they hide it. There will be a lot of hard questions asked of your father, I only hope he is prepared," Maege said.

"I hope so as well. We'll never win this war if the North can't remain as one. How do you feel about Jon, my lady?"

Maege smiled and laid a hand on Robb's shoulder. "Don't you worry about me, I still believe in your father, even in light of this, and I knew Lady Lyanna. She was a great woman, and I expect any son of hers to be much the same. I also heard my daughter's words, as much as any lord here, and it did a great deal in convincing me of your cousin's worth."

The words lifted Robb's heart. If nothing else, at least one House was with them, hopefully more would follow once they met Jon. "Thank you, my ladies, your support has helped me greatly through a time when I was lost and unsure. Now if you'll excuse me I must speak with my uncle, then I need to find my mother."

Maege gave his shoulder a squeeze and nodded. "The North remembers. No one will forget the courage and cunning of the Young Wolf, not so long as a Mormont still draws breath. Without your leadership, us lords would still be at Moat Cailin, squabbling over who gets what command. Best of luck with your mother, she seemed . . . _off_." Maege guided Dacey from the hall, leaving Robb with nothing but his thoughts and his pacing uncle.

"Uncle," Robb called, startling Edmure. Robb moved to a table and reached for a flagon of wine from the center. He poured a goblet before remembering the Maester's words. _Stay away from the wine for a day or so, at least. _Robb idly wondered if the Maester could swim half so well as the Tullys' sigil. _I might just be inclined to find out. _

Edmure took the seat next to him and reached for the flagon, but Robb pushed his own goblet over, still full. "Here," Robb bit out, wanting some wine to clear his head, or to make it more foggy. Enough so that he no longer worried about crowns or wars or hidden Targaryen kings, or what trouble his own mother might cause. "Tell me everything. I want to know what happened from the moment you left my chambers."

Edmure took a deep swig from the goblet and set it down. "Nephew," he started, anxiety written in every line of his face.

"Please," Robb pleaded, "I need to know . . ."

Edmure took another swig, then tossed the now empty goblet aside. "I tried to speak with her on the way to the Great Hall, but she ignored each attempt. She got the lords attention, read the letter, and just left."

Robb stilled, digesting the truth. _Why Mother, just why? _"Do you know where she went?" They needed to be of a single cause before reaching Winterfell, or he may as well remain here.

"She's like to be where she normally is, with our lord father."

"Thank you, Uncle. Are you okay with keeping command over the northmen while I am away? I did not mean to impose."

"They will be sorely needed should Tywin attempt to free the Kingslayer."

_Let us pray you don't do something foolish and get captured . . . again, _he thought. Robb nodded. "At the first sign of banners, send a raven to the Twins. We'll bring the foot across the Green Fork and smash Tywin against the walls of Riverrun."

Edmure smiled and slapped Robb on the shoulder. "Then here's to the second siege of Riverrun, and a swift end to the war." He reached out and filled two goblets with wine, passing one to Robb before drinking from his own.

Robb frowned and set the goblet aside. "I would not expect Tywin to come, but you'll need to be ready, just in case. He knows where our foot are, and he knows how exposed he'll be to an attack from the east."

Edmure's smile disappeared and he stood, Robb following suit. "And now I've lost my mood to drink as well. When you return, nephew, I'm going to teach you to loosen up, even if it kills me."

"There are worse ways to die, especially now," he said, managing a grim smile.

"Yes. I suppose there is." Edmure turned away and left.

"That went _well_," Robb said aloud, the hall now empty but for him. He sat back down in the seat and looked at the full wine goblet. _Fuck the maester, _he thought, grabbing the goblet and draining it. It didn't make him feel any better. He leaned forward and reached for the flagon, but Grey Wind nudged his head into Robb's lap, forcing him back into the seat. "Damn you, leave me be," he cursed, pushing at the direwolf's head. Grey Wind looked up into Robb's eyes, and he realized the wolf was right. "Fine, you win . . . I'll go find Mother."

Robb found his lady mother in Lord Hoster Tully's bedchamber, precisely where Edmure had said she would be. "May I come in?" he asked, knocking on the door.

"You may," came the reply from within.

Lord Hoster Tully had been a great man, tall, broad, and strong, or so his mother had always told him. The man before him was surely not the same one from all his mother's stories. Perhaps sickness and old age had done this to him, but the Hoster Tully that Robb saw was slight, bald, and appeared to be shrunken. He laid back on several pillows, snoring softly, his breaths shallow and raspy.

Robb looked to his mother, hoping to see something . . . anything, but she could hardly look at him, so he hardened his heart and decided it would be best not to stay for long. "Why, Mother?" he asked, fearing the answer he was almost certain of.

"_Shh_," she whispered, motioning for him to follow. She led him out into the entry chamber and shut the door behind them.

"Why?" Robb repeated, the wine making his head swim.

"Why what?"

"You know _what_, Mother. I asked you to wait until I arrived, but both Edmure and Brynden confirmed that you read the lords that letter."

Catelyn eyes flashed with something Robb couldn't place. "They deserved to know," she answered simply, looking away.

"I agree, and I intended to tell them, but you just had to be the one. The Greatjon might've killed me if it hadn't been for Grey Wind, did you know?"

Catelyn turned back to her son, a worried and apologetic look upon her face. "I'm sorry Robb, if I had known . . ."

"You would have, what," he interjected, "not told them? Because I sincerely doubt that."

"I'm sorry," she spoke, her voice trembling slightly.

Robb felt his chest clench, but he would not back down now. "I'm sure you are, though not for reading them Jon's letter, only that it endangered me." The silence gave Robb all the truth he could take. It was time to leave, before he inevitably broke and forgave her. This was his mother, after all, and he hated nothing more than to see her sad. He hardened his heart once more. "We depart for Winterfell at dawn, Mother. Your horse will be made ready, if you require it."

Catelyn wiped the tears away and straightened up. Her eyes still looked sad and distant, but her posture was hard as steel. "My father has need of me. I will see Ned when he arrives here."

"Mother, the letter from Father said they might not head straight to Riverrun. It also said that Arya was with him. Winterfell may be your last chance to see them for many moons. And what of Bran and Rickon? They're still so young, and miss you dearly." _Why are you doing this? Is it to punish me, or Father?_

"I can't," she said, her voice rigid with tension. "I can't see _him._"

"Jon?" Robb asked, confused. "You didn't know, Mother. It doesn't make what you did right, but now you know the truth, you can make it better."

"I am owed apologies, the _dragon _will get none from me."

The venom in her voice felt like a dagger, stabbing straight through Robb's heart. His heart and head pounded, but dead men feel nothing, and her words had slaughtered any empathy he might've felt. "You are right. It would be best if you remained here, to think on all you've done. Father has much to answer for, but not even he deserves _this_. I will have your horse readied regardless, in case you change your mind, but I don't expect it. Goodbye, Mother." Catelyn reached for him, fresh tears falling, but Robb pulled away from her and stood. She opened her mouth to speak but Robb cut her off. "All that time living in the North, and you still know nothing of the pack."

"Jon was never part of the pack," she muttered, her eyes now downcast.

"If you truly believe that, then perhaps it was you who was never part of the pack." Robb turned and started towards the door, no longer able to maintain his anger.

"I'm sorry," she said to his back.

Robb made it a few dozen paces down the hall before he could no longer take it. He punched the wall, his anger returning. This was his mother, he loved her and didn't want to speak to her in such a way, but her words were nothing short of cruel. _Why can't she see? _He didn't understand it, any of it. He was angry at his father, how could he not be, but a part of him knew why it had needed to happen. He had heard stories of what happened to the Targaryen children, and he could only imagine Jon as a babe, his skull crushed at Tywin Lannister's command. To blame Jon for something completely out of his control, it was not as if he knew . . . or rather, Robb hoped he didn't know. Jon had always appeared to be a terrible liar, but perhaps that was just part of hiding him. _I'll find that out as well, in Winterfell. _Robb sighed and continued down the hall. His eyes began to sag as he walked, but he needed to see to the preparations and send a message to Winterfell for his father. Finally an hour later, he returned to his chamber, ate some hard tasteless cheese, and collapsed into bed, his eyes fluttering shut immediately.

Robb woke an hour before dawn, ate a meal of crusty bread and more cheese, then strapped his sword on and set out for the courtyard. Most of the lords were present, and the rest would be soon, but of his mother there was no sign. He sighed, though he had expected no less. It became very clear where the lines stood as Robb watched the lords milling about. The Houses Manderly, Mormont, Frey all stood with the Starks, and thusfore Jon. The rest were at best undecided, but Robb doubted any man present was incapable of being convinced. Dawn came and there was still no sign of Catelyn. Robb called to the lords to mount up, feeling both sadness and apprehension. He waited off to the side as they filed from Riverrun. He finally caught a glimpse of his mother, watching him from the balcony of her room, tears streaming down her face.

A hand grasping his shoulder gave him a start, until he realized it was Dacey, a reassuring smile on her face. "Come on, Robb, its time to depart, she's not coming."

Robb nodded and looked up at his mother one last time. She gave a small, courtesy wave before turning and disappearing into her chamber. _Goodbye, Mother. _He spurred his horse towards the gate.

The ride to the Twins was hard, and far too quiet. Each night, Brynden's report came back with no sign of any Lannister movement. So why did Robb spend each night tossing and turning, unable to sleep for long, if at all? He didn't know for sure, but he knew he wouldn't feel safe until they reached the Twins. True to his father's order, Robb had only brought a score of men with him, excepting the lords and his squire, Olyvar. They listened to his orders, but the Mormonts and Freys were the only ones to really speak with him. Olyvar and the Mormonts brought him some small amount of comfort, the other Freys though . . . Perwyn and Stevron were amiable enough, but their chats contained far too much pandering. Robb was just short of miserable, and pandering merely annoyed him. Grey Wind, on the other hand, loved the freedom of being away from Riverrun. He disappeared to hunt for the better part of the day, and returned at nightfall to sleep next to Robb in his tent.

The Twins were ugly, built more for practical reasons than any kind of fanciness. An identical tower on each side of the Green Fork commanded all traffic across the river this far north, especially with how high the river had been running of late. Robb had wished to avoid the Twins, but such a detour would cost them weeks and sooner or later, he would've ended up here anyway. After all, he was promised to one of Lord Frey's daughters. A prospect that filled Robb with dread based on how his mother had spoke of them. He need not worry about that now though, for they were just on their way to Winterfell, no time for a wedding.

When Robb had passed through on his way south, Lord Walder had been much too worn out from negotiations to see them on, or so they were told. Standing before him now, Robb could not help but feel unimpressed by the Lord of the Crossing, though he would never give voice to such thoughts. _This is the man who enacted such a heavy price from Mother._ He was hunched from age, and ugly, looking like some kind of strange mix between a weasel and vulture, just as his mother had said. Walder was surrounded by several of his remaining sons and grandsons, but none of his daughters were in the hall. Judging by Walder's appearance, Robb was almost certain he would not like meeting them, though he would not stray from his word, no matter how he felt on the matter. "Lord Walder," he said courteously. "I have come to return to the North."

The Lord of the Crossing smiled mockingly. "Beat Tywin Lannister already, did you?"

Robb stiffened. "No, my lord, Lord Tywin is still at Harrenhal, our information states."

"Come here to wed my daughter then, have you?"

Robb grimaced. "I-"

"You may as well save your enthusiasm for the wedding night, boy, I know why you're here, _heh. _You're to meet your new king in Winterfell." Walder chuckled nasally at Robb's shock. "Oh, I got the Targaryen's little letter, did you think elsewise? Mayhap you were foolish enough to believe my son would not send a raven with your plan, _heh. _No matter. I'll let you pass, so long as you do something for me in return."

"What would you have of me?" Robb asked, worried, but hiding it well behind a mask of respectful indifference.

Walder's crooked smile was filled with the man's ambition. "I would have much, but not as of yet. For now, I need an escort for Little and Big Walder, plus I have a mind to send a gift to this new king of yours."

"Of course, any of your kin are welcome to accompany us to Winterfell. What is this gift, if you don't mind my asking?"

"I do, but I'll tell you anyway. Elmar!" Arya's betrothed stepped from behind one of his larger kin, a slight boy with weasel-like features similar to his father's. _Poor boy, you'll never come close to taming Arya._ "I had planned to give this one to Bolton for a squire but damn the whispering fool, better he go to a king. Olyvar came close to the same, but you turned down the crown. _Heh, _must be the first boy to scoff at the chance of being king. Though I suppose it's better than declaring against . . . what is he, your cousin?"

Robb flushed. "Olyvar is a fine squire. He has served me well," he said, avoiding talk of the crown, and making certain not to mention that Arya was at Winterfell. Lord Walder would find out soon enough, but there was no need for him to know _now_.

"Expect something less, did you?" He scoffed. "My daughter might've been your queen."

Robb glared at the old lord. "I declined the crown a fortnight prior to learning of my cousin, and had no intention of taking it so long as my father drew breath. It was not done to cause offense to you or your House, I swear it. I am not interested in any throne, my lord." Robb had a feeling that sentiment was not shared by Walder Frey.

"It is no matter," he said, though his eyes told a different tale. "You're still a boy, filled with foolish dreams of honor. You'll stay the night."

"You are a gracious host, my lord. I would be most grateful for a warm bath and a meal. It has been a hard ride," Robb said, keeping his voice even.

"Yes, yes, you visiting lords are always so grateful. Elmar will show you the way, so you don't get _lost_."

Robb nodded and followed the small boy from the hall. He led him up a flight of stairs and down a short corridor, then came to a stop outside of an oaken door. "This is it," Elmar said.

"Thank you." Robb noticed the boy's strange look, his curiosity overtaking him. "Do you want to serve Jon?"

"I . . . I do, it's just . . . t-the Targaryens . . . they're . . ."

Elmar's voice dropped off, though Robb knew what he was going to say. He couldn't blame the boy, for he had grown up hearing much the same. Robb may have been equally as nervous at the prospect of meeting a Targaryen, had he not known Jon since they were babes. "I have found out recently that stories are written for the winner, perhaps what we know of the Targaryens is a lie. Here is something I know for certain, my cousin is not mad, and there is no better man than him to squire under."

The boy nodded, his nervousness slightly abated. "The servants will be up with food soon. Until the morrow," Elmar said, inclining his head before scurrying off back towards the stairs.

_Arya's going to eat that boy alive, _Robb thought, chuckling to himself and pushing open the door. The chamber was pleasantly surprising. The rushes and sheets were fresh, and a copper tub waited in the corner, the water still steaming. Robb got finished bathing just in time for his meal to arrive. It was mouthwatering fare compared to the hard rations he had grown accustomed to during his journeys, both south and north. There was a whole roast chicken, seasoned with garlic and lemon, a savory beef and barley stew, a loaf of warm bread, and a flagon of Arbor Gold. Robb split the loaf in two and used one half as a trencher for the stew, and the other half to mop up the remains. Too stuffed to eat the chicken, he drank two goblets of Arbor Gold, pulled off his tunic and swordbelt, and climbed into bed.

Robb woke to the sound of the door clicking shut. He looked up through foggy, sleep-ridden eyes. The figure was slender and of average height, but they held a candle up near their face so he couldn't make out who it was. He rolled off the bed and grabbed his sword, unsheathing and pointing it at the mysterious figure. "Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

The figure moved to the table and lit the candles there, casting a soft glow across the room. It was a girl of around the same age as Robb. She had very little of Lord Walder in her, but if one squinted you could still see a hint of the old weasel. "I'm Alyx Frey. I've come to please you, my lord."

Robb gulped, his breeches tightening despite his reservation. "I'm sorry, my lady, but I am not in need of pleasure, only sleep. I would be more than pleased to make your acquaintance . . . on the morrow," he offered politely.

Alyx took a step forward, making Robb step back against the wall. "As I always say, why wait till the morrow for what can be done today," she purred, unlacing the top of her bodice.

"This is wholly inappropriate, my lady. I must ask you to leave," he said, gesturing towards the door with his swordpoint.

She took another step forward, but this time there was nowhere for Robb to retreat. She ran a hand down the flat of his sword as she slowly approached, staring at him like a wolf would a plump deer. "Come now, you don't truly want that, do you?" She laid a hand next to Robb's on the hilt of his sword. "Why don't we put aside this sword . . ." She took the blade from his motionless hand and tossed it to the floor. "And I'll play with this one . . ." She reached out and palmed Robb's cock through his thin leather breeches, equal parts shock and pleasure rendering him speechless. "There, that's a good little wolf." She rubbed up his length, stopping at the top of his breeches. "Oh my," she exclaimed, giggling softly. "You are not a little wolf after all, though there's only one way to know for sure." She knelt and hooked a finger around the hem of his breeches, slowly pulling them down.

The movement jolted Robb back to his senses. He reached down and removed her hand, then pulled up his breeches and hauled Alyx to her feet. "You are far past out of line, but I will forget this incident if you do as well."

"I will never forget this, my lord," she said, pecking him on the lips before he could react. "The time I came so close to soiling the perfect northern wolf."

Robb frowned and led her to the door, barring it as soon as she left. He slumped against the door and sighed heavily. Some small part of him regretted sending her away, but he ignored it all the same, instead returning to his bed and lying down. There would be no more disturbances . . . this night, at least. The next time Robb passed through the Twins, Lord Walder may just demand the marriage to take place, instead of sending one of his granddaughters to attempt seducing him. Although, Alyx Frey did give Robb hope for his future marriage. He fell asleep, suitably pleased that he had managed to resist.

Lord Frey broke his fast in his chambers due to a sickness, or so was the reason Stevron gave for his absence. Robb ate at a table with Ser Wendel and a few of Walder's sons and grandsons. It was a simple meal, just bread and bacon with ale, a vast contrast to the previous night. He wondered if that was because of his refusal of Alyx's company.

"Lord Robb," called a voice from down the table. He turned and found it was one of Walder's sons, Lothar, that had spoken. "Tell us of the Kingslayer, of the moment he realized he had ridden into a trap."

"Well, he was certainly surprised," Robb answered, prompting laughter from the men, "but that didn't stop him from cutting down three good men before he was subdued." The laughter died off and he turned back to his food.

Robb finished his meal and began to look around the room, hoping to avoid further conversation. His exchange with Lord Walder had given him all the Frey hospitality he could stomach without retching. If it had been his choice, they would've ridden out of the gates at dawn. Ser Stevron had insisted they break their fast before departing, and Robb couldn't figure out a polite way to decline. His eyes fell on a table of Frey women, chattering amongst themselves, or rather, one girl in particular.

Her eyes met his and she smiled knowingly. Robb felt the heat rush to his face, powerless to stop it. She laughed and winked, holding her arm just above the table and rubbing it slowly. He jerked back, banging his knee into the table in an effort to rise.

"Are you okay, my lord?" Wendel asked, looking somewhat worried.

"I'm fine, ser, just restless. It does not appear as though Lord Walder intends to grace us with his presence, and it is past time we departed."

"As I said, my lord father has taken ill," Stevron said.

"Yes, and I am deeply saddened to hear of it," Robb lied, "but we are at war and can not linger. Will you and Ser Perwyn still be joining us?" _Jon and Father await me, you doddering fool. I don't intend to stay while Lord Frey makes excuses by day and sends maids to me by night. _

"Yes, my lord, we will be," he answered tightly.

"Very well, we depart within the hour. Wendel, inform the rest while I see to the horses." Wendel nodded and Robb strode off without looking back.

An hour later, they rode from the Twins, none happier than Robb to be departing. Lord Walder was still much too _sick _to see them off, or so Stevron repeatedly told him. It didn't matter if it was true or not, Winterfell was his destination, not the Twins, and no doubt his father and cousin were already there. 

Dacey Mormont rode up along side him, grinning widely. "I saw you making eyes with one of the Frey girls cross the hall. Did something happen?"

Robb struggled to maintain his composure. "I showed her my sword." The words were only partially a lie. He _had_ shown Alyx his sword, even pointed it at her.

"Did she touch it as well? I saw her smiling and rubbing her arm," she said, feigning ignorance.

"I . . ." Robb spurred his horse on, the sound of Dacey's laughter following him as he went. It was going to be a _long _ride to Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is Tyrion I :)


	12. Tyrion I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion arrives in King's Landing woefully unaware of Jon's letter . . .

Seeing spears pointed at him was something Tyrion had grown accustomed to over the past few moons, though having Lannister guards do it was new. "I have a letter from Tywin Lannister for the queen." The guards looked at each other unsure. "My father," Tyrion added, cracking a smile.

"Lord Tyrion, apologies." The man who spoke dropped his spear and the others followed suit.

"What led you to that conclusion, the Lannister standard, or mayhap it was my height? Who are you, and where can I find my sister?" It had been a long ride, and he had no patience to play games with guardsmen.

The man knelt and took off his helm. "I am Vylarr, my lord, captain of the Lannister guards within the city. Her Grace is meeting with the council presently. She had been expecting your lord father . . ."

Tyrion sighed. "Alas, I am only half the man my father is, though I may be just what this city needs. Now, open the gate."

Stands had been set up in the outer bailey, and people watched Tyrion intently as he rode through the portcullis. The first thing he noticed was Joffrey in a pavilion, watching him approach with a look of disgust. _This should be fun_, Tyrion thought pleasantly.

He dismounted in front of the king's pavilion. A galloping horse cut off the words he had been prepared to speak. Tyrion turned to see his nephew Tommen get scooped from his saddle by Shagga, and deposited beside him. "Nephew," Tyrion said fondly.

Tommen struggled to catch his breath he was laughing so hard. They were the same height now, Tyrion noticed. Myrcella dashed over and wrapped him in a tight hug. "I missed you, Uncle."

"And I you. Now I must go see Joffrey." Tyrion turned to his escort. "Bronn, Timett." The sellsword and the mountain clansman followed close behind Tyrion, with Myrcella and Tommen just behind them. "Your Grace," Tyrion said as he knelt before the new king.

"You." Joffrey looked less than pleased, which increased Tyrion's pleasure tenfold.

"None other," Tyrion agreed, "though perhaps a more courteous greeting is in order for your uncle and elder."

"We heard you were dead," the Hound rasped out.

"If I wished to speak to you, _cur_, I would fetch some scraps and whistle. I believe I was speaking to my nephew."

"Welcome to the city, Uncle. Did you bring me a name-day gift?" The king looked bored.

"I did. My wits, in fact."

"I would sooner have Eddard Stark's head."

Tyrion did not fail to notice the way Sansa grimaced at the mention of her father. Neither did he fail to notice the two poorly covered bruises on her face. "Yes, I suppose an execution would have been better than the situation we now find ourselves in. I am sorry for your loss, Your Grace."

The boy looked genuinely confused. "What loss?"

"Your royal father. He was a rather large man with a big black beard; you'll recall him if you try. He was the king before you."

Realization dawned in his eyes. "Yes, _him_. A boar killed him," he stated plainly.

"Ah, is that what _they_ say?"

Joffrey straightened in his seat. "Why are you here? Where is grandfather?"

Tyrion grinned. "I've come to clean up your mess, dear nephew. You need not worry about Lord Tywin, he is exactly where he intends to be."

"We'll see about that." Joffrey stood and began to walk off. "Tommen, Myrcella, come," he called over his shoulder.

Most everyone filed out after their king, leaving just Sansa and Tyrion with his escort. "I am sorry for your hardships, my lady. It is a pain no child should need to bear."

"You are kind to say so, my lord, though I don't know as to what hardships you speak."

Tyrion took a step forward and brushed his thumb over her bruised cheek, prompting a tear to fall from her eye. "I heard of your chance to escape, yet you chose to stay. Why remain, a lone sheep among all these wolves?"

"Lions," she corrected, her voice distant.

Tyrion helped Sansa from her chair. "You need not fear me, my lady. I am only a little lion, and I promise that I shall not savage you."

"I have learned what a lion's promise is worth," she said, almost as if she were speaking to the wind, not a Lannister. Tyrion raised an eyebrow. Sansa's eyes focused on him and she began to visibly tremble. "I'm very sorry, my lord. I don't know what came over me. I am loyal to my beloved Joffrey, _only Joffrey_. My father, brother, and cousin are traitors and I shall smile to see justice delivered unto them." With that she ran off in the direction of Maegor's Holdfast.

_Cousin? Who could the Starks' cousins even be? The Karstarks? _He would need to question his sister on that and more when they met. "What are you looking at, Bronn?" he asked, noticing the sellsword's gaze was off.

"That, m'lord." He pointed to a spot up on the wall.

Tyrion followed his finger and found a . . . well he couldn't quite make out what it was. It was suspended by a rope and the crows had been at it heavily though after several moments Tyrion realized it could only be a body, or rather, what was left of one. _Joffrey_, he concluded, suddenly feeling ill. "Best not leave my sweet sister waiting. There is _much _we need to speak on.

Ser Mandon Moore stood guard outside the council chamber. Jaime said that he was the most dangerous of Robert's Kingsguard, after himself of course, because his eyes never portrayed his intentions. Pale grey and lifeless they were, yet the man wished to live so after a few pointed words he let Tyrion pass.

"_You_," Cersei said with a poisonous glare.

Tyrion cracked a smile. "I can see where Joffrey learned his courtesies." He sighed and paused to collect himself. Cersei could smell weakness like a rabid dog, and would tear him apart like one at the first whiff.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Delivering a letter from our lord father." Tyrion procured the letter and set it in front of Cersei. She cracked the seal and he could tell the moment that she reached the good part, for a hint of fear appeared in her eyes.

Cersei swallowed heavily before speaking. "Lord Tywin has sent my brother to take his seat in the council. He bid us to accept Tyrion as Hand of the King until such time as he can join us himself."

Pycelle looked like he was about to fall asleep, and yet his eyes shot open at those words. "I suppose greetings are in order," he said at once, nodding dully. "Welcome, Lord Tyrion, you are most needed in these troubled times."

"Undoubtedly," the balding, fat Lord Janos agreed. "Whispers of wolves and dragons, riot in the streets, grim omens coming from the sky. The city has a dire need for you, my lord."

Cersei scoffed. "It is your duty to maintain order in the streets, _Lord _Janos. A duty you have been failing in mightily, need I remind you. And you, Grand Maester, have been warned about your insurrections. There shall not be another." Cersei turned her gaze on Tyrion. "You would be better served on the field of battle."

"I have had my fill of battle, sweet sister." Tyrion indicated to his arm, still in its sling. "A morningstar, if you were wondering. I fought back the northmen on the Green Fork because my lord father asked it of me. I would have continued to do so if he so wished. But, Lord Tywin knows that I wield words far better than I ever could a battle-axe. So let me be of service, in whatever _small _way that I can."

"Well said, my lord. You truly are a man after my own heart." Littlefinger smiled as if they were old friends. Tyrion wondered if he would still be smiling when a certain Valyrian steel dagger with a dragonbone hilt became the topic of discussion. That was a chat for another day though.

Cersei smiled sweetly, which unnerved Tyrion far more than any threat could. "Okay, Tyrion, you may yet be of some help. What do you know of Lord Stark's bastard?"

_Jon Snow? _Something in the way she smiled filled Tyrion with uncertainty. This was a trap, he knew, and the best way to avoid it was to avoid the question and stab at her directly. "Never once in the time that we were in Winterfell did you deign to acknowledge the bastard's existence. Now you not only acknowledge it, you ask after him. You sent for help, and yet you slight me, and Father's decision, at every given opportunity. I believe that I shall take my leave, to begin writing a rather unpleasant raven to our father."

"Wait," Cersei called out when Tyrion put his hand to the door. "You have always been clever. Come, sit, have some wine if you will."

Tyrion smiled to himself, but made sure it was long gone when he turned back towards the council. He nodded grimly at his sister and climbed up into the Hand's chair - it seemed appropriate, and Tyrion was nothing if not appropriate. He poured himself a goblet of wine and took a cautious sip; it was chilled and tart, with the taste of blackberries. _It will serve, _he thought. "_Now_ the truth, what is the Bastard of Winterfell to you?"

"Not a bastard, to start," Littlefinger said, smirking.

Tyrion laughed, harder than he had in some time. "Excuse me, my lords, but travel has done all manner of strange things to my head. For a moment it sounded like you said that Jon Snow was not a bastard." He took a sip of his wine.

Varys sighed. "Would that we were playing you false, Lord Tyrion. Lord Stark has betrayed us all, none more so than our dearly departed King Robert. He is no doubt turning in his grave at the thought of a Targaryen in Westeros."

"Viserys Targaryen has returned? What does that have to do with Jon Snow?" Tyrion could feel his patience beginning to wear thin.

Cersei scoffed. "Maybe Jaime _isn't_ the stupidest Lannister after all. The Beggar King is dead, the Dothraki crowned him in molten gold, an end befitting a man of his . . . _nobility_."

The councilors shared a laugh, one Tyrion did not join. Viserys being dead was all the better, yet that didn't answer his question. "We can all agree the realm is safer with him gone, but that does not explain how Jon Snow fits in."

"_Gods,_" Cersei exclaimed, the anger in her voice all but certain. "Lord Stark's bastard is the Targaryen in Westeros. _Jon Targaryen_, he's calling himself. He sent a letter claiming he's the whelp of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark."

Tyrion spit out the wine he had been drinking, straight into the face of Janos Slynt. "I'm sorry, _what?_"

"I shan't repeat myself, brother."

Lord Janos roared and stood from his chair. "This doublet cost _thirty dragons_, and now you've ruined it!"

Littlefinger laughed. "Money poorly spent, my lord. I dare say the wine was an improvement."

"A waste of a good vintage," Varys wistfully agreed.

"I won't stand here and suffer these slights!" He strode from the room, leaving a trail of small wine drips in his wake.

Tyrion smiled and took a sip of his wine. "I can't say that I'm sad to see him go. Now if I'm not mistaken, Rhaegar was married to Elia Martell, was he not?"

"You are not mistaken," Pycelle confirmed, not that Tyrion needed it. He had read several books on Aerys' reign, and he knew quite a bit about the marriage of Rhaegar Targaryen.

"Then how, my lords, can there be a Jon Targaryen? Would that not simply make him a Waters, not a Snow?"

Cersei appeared to be in thought. "Perhaps," she said at last, "and publicly that is what he shall be."

"And privately?"

Cersei scowled and Varys spoke. "This must never leave this room, my lord, but there are several ways that Rhaegar may have annulled his marriage. Your sister was most cunning in naming the letter false though. Sansa Stark herself attested that it is part of a plot by her father to gain power."

_My sister has always thought herself too clever by half. I'll need to find out more, but not from this lot. _"Very cunning indeed," Tyrion said. "We must maintain this story. Any proof that speaks to the contrary must be found immediately and destroyed."

"We have dispatched a loyal man to the Citadel in an attempt to find answers," Varys replied.

_Loyal to whom, I wonder. _"Of course. My lords, perchance you would allow me a moment to speak with my sister?"

Varys stood up and smiled at Tyrion. "Oh how much you must have missed your sister's sweet voice while in captivity. Please, my lords, let us give these two the chance for a proper reunion, the woes of our troubled realm will keep."

Pycelle rose slowly and followed Varys from the room, yet Littlefinger remained seated. "Shall I have the steward prepare chambers in Maegor's?" he asked, still smiling.

"My thanks, but I think not. I will be taking the quarters in the Tower of the Hand. I am, after all, the Hand."

Littlefinger chuckled. "You're a braver man than I. _You_ do know what befell the last two Hands to stay in that tower?"

"I do not believe in curses, Lord Baelish. I am surprised that a man of your . . . _practicality _would be unnerved by such."

"It is my _practicality_, as you so eloquently put it, that keeps me far from that tower."

"As you say. Will you excuse us, Lord Baelish? I have so missed my sweet sister's voice, and quite frankly your own pales in comparison."

"How many men have you brought?" Cersei asked as soon as the door closed.

"A few hundred. My own, mostly. Father was hard pressed to part with the score he sent for an escort. He _is _fighting a war, _your_ son's war."

"Mind your tongue," she spat. "I could name this letter a forgery, throw you in the black cells and no one would dare question it."

Tyrion swirled his wine around in the goblet. "Careful, Cersei. Father will be here eventually, and he would certainly wish to know why you falsely locked up his son. The last time that happened, it prompted a war. But there is no need, sweet sister, I am only here to help."

"I don't need _your _help. I ordered Father to come here, and he sent _you._ I am Joffrey's regent, and I sent him a _royal command_!"

Her righteous indignation amused Tyrion, though now was not the time for jests. He was playing with fire, and a wrong move would leave him charred. "Father would not have ignored it if he didn't feel it necessary. We are at war, and one false step will be the death of us all."

"And if Renly should march on King's Landing? Or if Stannis finally sails from Dragonstone? What then?"

"We will hold the city, and trust that Father will provide aid when he is able. The smallfolk's hatred will not make that any easier, and I very much doubt Joffrey is being thrown roses in the streets."

"Joff is strong-willed. Ever since his coronation he believes he can do as he pleases, not as he's bid."

"Including pummeling the Stark girl into submission? Is that him doing as he pleases, or is he carrying out the council's bidding?"

She slapped him. "_You _think that _I _would instruct Joffrey to beat a helpless girl."

Tyrion took a sip of his wine and refilled his goblet. "Not truly," he lied, "yet I had to ask. And what of the executions at the Sept of Baelor? Two gold cloaks, wasn't it?"

"The men were the bearers of the news that Lord Stark had escaped. Things seemed fine, barring the obvious, but then Joff just ordered their heads off. Ser Ilyn and Janos carried it out without even a word from me," she said, affronted. "It was almost as if they knew an execution would occur that day."

"No doubt," Tyrion concurred. "Is one of them that corpse strung up in the bailey?"

"Yes," she sneered. "You should have heard the lies he cried, in front of half the city. He called Joff a _bastard_, and the_ son of the Kingslayer_."

"He spoke the truth, you mean."

She slapped him.

Tyrion rubbed his cheek. "Do you think me as blind as Father? I've always known, and no one could care less than I. Though it does seem unfair, you spreading your legs for one brother and not the other."

She slapped him.

His cheeks were burning, yet he smiled. "Relax, Cersei, it was only a jest. Now the corpse on the wall, what did Joffrey do with him?"

"He cut out his tongue, and strung him up by the underarms. Then he shot him through the bowels with a crossbow bolt. That's all."

Tyrion felt sick, but he could tell there was more. "_Is_ that all?"

"No," she hesitantly admitted. "He had Janos collect the man's wife and two children under some false pretense. And then . . ." She trailed off looking oddly sad. It was a farce, of course, but Tyrion was surprised she would go through the effort. "Joff had Ser Ilyn cut their heads off, all three of them, the children were only nine and four, both girls. Meryn Trant said the mother was made to watch her two children die, and all the while Joff sat the throne, smirking."

It sickened Tyrion, and the way Cersei made it sound as if the torture were just a minor inconvenience infuriated him. He recalled what his father had said the night he sent him to King's Landing. Joffrey had to be taken into hand, and never mind what Cersei has to say of it. Tyrion saw now that complacency would not work here. The mother was just as guilty as the son, and would need to be taken in hand much the same. "Your raven never mentioned any of _this_? _Why_?"

Cersei flinched at the anger in his voice, but she quickly recovered. "It was a deed best hidden. I had the heads taken down and given to the silent sisters, the bodies are gone, and only the gods know where."

"I shall thank the Crone for giving you the _insightfulness_ to cover up the murder of women and children. You had no intention of informing me, did you?"

She sipped her wine and remained silent.

Tyrion nodded, unsurprised. "I _will _be the Hand, and you will let me work in peace. I may be your last chance to salvage the mess you and Joffrey have made."

"_If_ I allow it, than you will be the King's Hand in name, but _my_ Hand in truth. You will inform me of all your plans and schemes before you act, and you will do nothing without _my _consent. Do you understand?"

"I understand well, but I respectfully decline. You will not rule over me like one of these sheep you call a council. I am the only one in this damned city that might be able to save Joffrey from Jon Targaryen, and I will do it as Hand, not as your _dog_." He was done pretending. Father had told him to rule, and he did not intend to do so with a collar round his neck.

"_You will_, or Father will arrive to find your head upon a spike."

Tyrion laughed. "And what will happen when Father finds out he lost both of his sons because of you?"

"I would _never_ hurt Jaime," she stated plainly, as if he were a dullard.

"Your best hope to get Jaime returned safely sits the Hand's chair presently. I am likely the only one who can. I know Jon's weakness; his sister, Arya, or is it cousin? It makes no matter. He is extremely fond of her and I can use that to our advantage." Tyrion noticed the way her gaze dropped to the floor. "You do still have the girl, surely?"

"She was at the Sept of Baelor that day, amongst the crowd. She escaped the city with the help of Ser Barristan, it would seem. We sent men up and down the Kingsroad, but it is likely she is in the North with Lord Stark."

Tyrion grimaced. _Can you do anything right, sweet sister? _"I presume you thought it best to hide this as well?" He needed no answer. "I may still be able to save Jaime, but I will need time to think on it. Until then you will let me work in peace, or Father will know all that you have hidden, I swear it."

"You treat me like a kennelmaster would a disobedient dog," she sneered. "Choose your next words carefully, _brother_, or you will not leave this room alive."

_A disobedient dog knows more obedience than you, _he mused. Her threats of death bothered him less than his wounded shoulder, and the pain from that had stopped sometime during his journey to King's Landing. "When you part my head, you condemn Jaime to the same. Father has already marked him as good as dead. All hope for our dear brother dies with me. _Besides_, why kill me, I am only here to help . . ." Tyrion grinned crookedly. "Now, I believe I have had my fill of your _sweet voice, _Cersei. I will begin my work on the morrow." Tyrion snagged the rest of the blackberry wine before he climbed down from his seat. _The eunuch was right, it is a fine vintage, and wasted on Cersei. _

"I have not granted you leave."

Tyrion rolled his eyes and kept going. "Kill me then," he threw over his shoulder. Unsurprisingly, she did nothing.

Bronn fell in beside him in the hall, but Timett son of Timett was nowhere in sight. "Where is our red hand?"

Bronn shrugged. "Felt an urge to explore. His kind aren't made for waiting about in halls."

"They had best learn quick. We have come to a dangerous place, and my sister may kill me yet. I will need every man to see me safe till my father arrives, and the dead know naught of debts." _Let's hope he doesn't kill anyone important. _The clansmen from the Mountains of the Moon were loyal in their own fierce way, but they were quick to answer a slight, real or imagined, with steel. "Bronn, try and find him, then see that the rest are fed and quartered. I want them in the barracks beneath the Tower of the Hand, but inform the steward that the Moon Brothers and Stone Crows must be placed apart, and the Burned Men will need a hall to themselves."

"Where will you be?"

_Somewhere unpleasant, I gather. _"I need answers, and Vylarr needs to be reminded that his oath is to Casterly Rock, not Cersei or my clottish nephew."

"Will you be visiting the Broken Anvil tonight?"

_Yes, of course, _is what he wanted to say, but he couldn't, not this night. "No. My sister left a much bigger mess than I imagined. There will be no time to visit her this night. I want a guard on my bedchamber at all times, and impress upon them the need to refrain from _exploring_." Bronn nodded. "One more thing, I want this flagon brought to my room. I wouldn't be angered if you drank a cup or two, but make sure there is plenty left. I may not be able to see her but I'll join the Night's Watch before I sleep sober." Bronn grinned and took the flagon.

Tyrion found Vylarr patrolling the outer walls. "Captain," he called, halting him where he stood.

"My lord. I had not expected to see you so soon. Is there something you require?"

"There is a great many things I require, but from you I only need answers."

Vylarr looked around suspiciously before speaking. "Her Grace should have all the answers you seek, Lord Tyrion."

"I'm sure she does," Tyrion agreed, "and yet, she won't give them to me."

"If the queen did not inform you then surely there must have been a good reason," Vylarr replied, his eyes glancing around nervously.

"Take off your helm," he ordered.

"My lord?"

"Now captain, don't make me ask twice." Vylarr took off his helm and held it out to Tyrion. "Flip it around and take a good look. What is the animal that crests your helm? Is it a bear or an eagle, or mayhap it is a squid?"

"It is a lion, my lord."

"Very good, and what does that lion signify?"

"It signifies that I serve House Lannister and its lord."

_Yes, Vylarr, now just a few more steps and this game will be over. _"Now remind me, my sister is the head of House Lannister, correct?"

"No my lord, it is your father, Tywin Lannister."

"Of course, how forgetful of me. My father sent me to this city to rule as Hand in his stead. To do that I need information, some that my dear sister seems not like to share."

"What do you need to know?"

"I need to know much, and I will, but let's start with Eddard Stark's escape. How did this come to be?" _The first of many blunders._

"The escape seems to have been a plan formed between Lord Stark, Ser Barristan, a black brother named Yoren-"

"-_Yoren. _Are you sure his name was Yoren?" _Why would he get involved in this?_

"Yes, my lord. He was the one who tried to kidnap Lady Sansa," Vylarr said, confused.

_The Night's Watch takes no part indeed, _Tyrion thought bitterly. "Continue," he gritted out.

"The last man was a gaoler named Rugen. He was the one to free Lord Stark from his cell. There is still no clue as to how they escaped. Ser Barristan found Arya Stark, a task that even Lord Varys failed at, and took her from the city."

"Ah, Ser Barristan. If only his involvement could've been avoided. Oh wait. It _could've_ been avoided," Tyrion stated, angered. "Who is this Rugen though? Why would he want to free Lord Stark?"

"After Lady Sansa's attempted kidnapping, the queen sent Varys and myself to investigate Rugen's chamber. There wasn't much but in the hearth there was a mostly burnt piece of parchment. The words were all burnt away but the seal was clearly a sun and spear."

"The Martells? What would the Dornish want with Lord Stark?"

"I don't know. Your sister has hidden this from all, even the king. She is worried he might march on Sunspear with the gold cloaks."

"That certainly sounds like my nephew. Speaking of which, when did he begin beating Lady Sansa?"

Vylarr shifted nervously. "His Grace," he hesitantly began, "called a court the day after the raven from the Wall arrived. The one that carried the letter proclaiming Lord Stark's bastard a Targaryen. The letter's a fake though-"

"-I know about the letter, captain. I _want _to know about the beating of Lady Sansa."

Vylarr gulped, his eyes ever shifting. "The queen had a witness, Jeyne Poole, attest that she overheard a conversation between Lord Stark and his two daughters. Lord Stark was tired of being known as an honorable northern fool and wished to gain the wealth and power he never could as Lord of Winterfell. He had been planning this since at least the Hand's tourney, possibly sooner."

Tyrion almost laughed. _Ned Stark betray Robert? If you're going to lie Cersei, at least make it somewhat believable._

"His Grace named Lady Sansa a traitor, but offered a chance at mercy," Vylarr continued. "She admitted the letter was a plan by her father and denounced her family as rebels and traitor. Joffrey announced that the Starks no longer had claim to Winterfell, and that it would be given over to a loyal lord after the war is complete."

_I pity any man given Winterfell, for he will not live long enough to enjoy it._

"Her Grace forgave Lady Sansa and was ordering her sent back to Maegor's Holdfast, when the king protested and sent the small council away. He had Ser Meryn Trant beat her while the entire court watched. Ser Arys eventually could take it no longer and stepped in, telling the king that she had learned her lesson . . ."

Vylarr stopped as two gold cloaks approached. The two of them looked at Tyrion strangely, but said nothing. "As you were saying, captain," Tyrion prompted once the gold cloaks were well out of earshot.

"Yes, the king then ordered Ser Arys to hit Lady Sansa, or else he would be named a traitor and executed. So he hit her in the face, knocking her unconscious. The king was furious, one could plainly see, but he just ordered the lady be taken to her chambers and left."

Tyrion wished he could be surprised, but Joffrey had always been cruel, the crown only granted him the power to be who he truly was. _Why am I saving him from Jon? _Tyrion asked himself, though he already knew the answer. _My family comes first. _"How fairs the city, captain?" Tyrion asked, not wanting to speak on his nephew's cruelty any longer.

"Not well," Vylarr admitted. "The smallfolk are frightened by all this talk of Targaryen kings. Some say the comet is a sign of the Mad King's return. Others say it is a sign that the gods have chosen their true king, since the comet showed up not long after the letters flew. The lack of food isn't helping matters. With Robb Stark to the west and Renly Baratheon to the south, very little food is getting to the city, and what does is over three times the price you might've found a year ago."

"And what has my dear sister done about this?"

"Her Grace has been working to restore the king's peace," Vylarr assured him. "Lord Janos has tripled the size of the gold cloaks. The queen has hired a thousand craftsmen. Stonemasons are strengthening the walls, carpenters are building scorpions and catapults by the hundreds, fletchers are making arrows by the thousands, and smiths are working day and night forging new blades. The Alchemists' Guild has also pledged ten thousand jars of wildfire."

_Oh great, just what we need. _Tyrion was pleased his sister hadn't been idle but wildfire was volatile and dangerous, and ten thousand jars were enough to turn all of King's Landing to ashes. "Thank you Vylarr, you have been most helpful and my father will know of your loyalty. There are just a few more things, but they are just things I need done. First, I want that body in the bailey and all the heads from the wall taken down and given to the silent sisters."

"His Grace wishes-"

Tyrion raised a hand, cutting him off. "My nephew is thirteen as of today, Vylarr. Do try and recall that. By your own admission, the people are frightened, let's not give them greater cause to be afraid."

"I'll see that they're taken down on the morrow myself, my lord."

"I thought you might. Lastly, you're going to keep an eye on the Stark girl. I want to be informed at once if the king tries to have her beaten again."

"You wish for me to spy on the king?"

"I am not asking you to spy on the king," Tyrion assured, "only to inform me if he does something reckless, like beating our only northern hostage."

"I don't know if I should do that," Vylarr said, looking equal part nervous and frightened.

"Captain," Tyrion stated, disappointed. "The next time I order your helm removed your head will surely follow. _I_ am trying to protect my nephew, and sometimes that means protecting him from himself. Do you understand?"

Vylarr's shoulders slumped. "Yes, my lord, I will do as you say."

"Cheer up, captain. A new day has dawned on this droll city, and with my help we may just live to see the new century." Tyrion looked out at the rapidly setting sun. "Here, go and get a drink or two, on me." He pulled a silver stag from his pocket and gave it to Vylarr before walking away.

The Small Hall was packed with clansmen, eating and drinking. Several whole roast pigs had already been demolished and even more ale casks laid empty and discarded. Clansmen clapped Tyrion on the back as he made his way to the head table. "HALFMAN!" one of them shouted, forcing a mug of ale into his hand.

Tyrion waddled to the head table where Bronn, Timett son of Timett, and Shagga son of Dolf sat with a few other clansmen. He climbed up on his chair, and then on to the table. "MEN OF THE MOUNTAIN!" The chatter died off until it was just murmurs. "We threw back the northmen on the Green Fork!" Tyrion ripped off his sling and the clansmen shouted their assent. "Not an easy feat, yet we prevailed, WHY?"

"HALFMAN'S STEEL!" they shouted, holding up their weapons.

Tyrion grinned. "And now we're here, in King's Landing, and they underestimate us already."

"KILL THEM!"

Tyrion chuckled. "I love your enthusiasm, my friends, but that won't be necessary. I will outsmart them, and save their lives while I'm at it. Protect me and the Vale will be yours!" He tipped back his mug and drank until it was empty, then tossed it aside.

"HALFMAN! HALFMAN! HALFMAN! HALFMAN!"

Tyrion climbed down and got Bronn's attention. The sellsword turned back while all around the clansmen returned to their feasting. "Is the guard in place?"

"Yes, and they know not to be exploring, lest they'd like to lose their cock. Who's planning to kill you?"

"It'd likely be shorter to list the ones who don't," Tyrion stated bitterly. He sighed. "I don't know for certain, but I rather enjoy living so it's better to be careful. I don't much feel in the mood for merriment, I'll be in my chambers if there is any problems. But first, where is my wine?"

"It's in your chambers." The sellsword grinned insolently. "_Well_, that is, what's left of it is in your chambers."

"There's my black-hearted rogue," Tyrion jested. "I'll see you on the morrow."

"Aye, you will."

Tyrion waddled up the stairs, his aching legs protesting with each step. A Moon Brother stood watch on his door, tall and lean, with arms like tree trunks. "Halfman," the man muttered, clearly displeased.

"No one is to enter," Tyrion ordered. The Moon Brother nodded his acknowledgement. Inside, Tyrion undressed to his smallclothes and rubbed at his aching legs. _Why did I agree to come to this damn city?_ Joffrey was still a monster, Cersei lied to try and cover it up, and his father's own men had to be threatened to gain their loyalty. _Shae. _He should've just went to the Broken Anvil and spent the night with her, but he decided his work had to start now. _Bloody fool. _Tyrion stoked the hearth back to a roaring flame and found his flagon. The bed was canopied and soft as a cloud, or maybe after such a long day, laying on a bed of rocks would've felt much the same.

Tyrion laid back and tilted the flagon over his mouth, taking deep gulps until he ran out of breath and the wine began running down his chin. He wiped at his face and then sucked the wine from his fingers. _Too fine a vintage to waste on my face, _Tyrion thought with a mixture of humor and bitterness. He drank the rest of the flagon and tossed it aside, shattering it on the floor. "Oops," Tyrion said before bursting out in laughter. _Oh Shae, how I wish I could bring you here, but Father said not to bring the whore to court, and I am a most dutiful son. _A fresh wave of laughter rolled over him.

_Your long slender legs . . . Your small firm breasts . . . That smile, oh how I love that smile, never have I met a girl who could be shy, wicked, and insolent like you. _Tyrion felt his cock stiffen. He laughed. "Looks like something else misses you as well," he stated, amused. A strange thought came to him. _Tower of the Hand indeed. _Tyrion took himself in hand and stroked a few times. "Oh Shae," he sighed.

A _thud _from the hall interrupted his pleasure. Tyrion removed his hand and lurched to his feet. "Who's there," he called out. The only response was a louder _thud_, followed by heavy footsteps. "Bronn, is that you?"

The door swung open, revealing a man that Tyrion did not recognize. He had matted dark hair and deep-set brown eyes that glinted with murderous intent. He was garbed in black leather and was shorter than normal for a man, not that it mattered to Tyrion. There was a deep cut above his left eye leaking fresh blood, and another at his left leg, slowing him. In his right hand he gripped a sword that still dripped with the clansmen's blood, and a dirk was sheathed at his waist. "What do you want?" Tyrion asked, anxiously glancing around the room. The doorway was blocked by the man, and it was much too far to drop from the window.

"I was paid to kill ya," the man panted. Each breath seemed a labor, and his right eye could not be opened because of the blood flowing out over it. _My clansman put up a good fight. _

"Whatever she is paying you, I'll double it," Tyrion reasoned, hoping there would be no need to fight. Just in case though, he began searching the room for weapons. There were a multitude hung on the walls, but they were much to high up, even if he could wield them. The only weapon in the room not currently held by the man was a small dagger meant for cutting cheese next to the bed.

"I think not, 'magine I let you live, you'll have them savages kill me 'fore I see any gold." He stepped into the room and shut the door.

_Smart man, or at least not stupid. _"I would not," Tyrion lied. "You have done no harm to me, and I am most generous to my friends. Just ask Bronn, or Shagga son of Dolf, or Timett son of Timett. They'll tell you of my generosity."

"Sure they would, right before guttin' me." The man wiped at his eye, but only managed to spread the blood worse. He cursed and took a few steps closer.

"And what do you imagine happens once you kill me? That they'll just let you walk away and collect your gold. Listen to reason, work for me and you'll be wealthier than you could imagine. Kill me, and you'll never leave this tower alive."

The man's smile never reached his eyes. "I got up here without them noticing, reckon I can get out likewise. Now enough talk, I'll make this quick."

Tyrion rolled out of the way as the sword whistled mere inches above his head. The bed was uneven and he found himself fighting just to stay upright. _Damn wine'll be the death of me. _The man thrust straight at his face. He tried to sidestep and fell face-first onto the bed. Tyrion rolled to the side just as a downcut ripped straight through the mattress. He leapt off the bed and heard a _thunk _come from behind him. He turned back to see the man attempting to pull his sword from where it had bit deep into one of the bed posts. Tyrion reached the cheese dagger and scooped it off the platter before rushing for the door as quick as his legs would carry him.

The man cursed and abandoned the sword, drawing his dirk and wiping at his bloody face. Tyrion got to the door and reached for the handle. _So close . . ._ A boot hit him between the shoulder blades, slamming him against the door and knocking the dagger from his hand. He fell to the floor and the man rolled him over, staring at him with the dirk poised to go through his heart. "Please," Tyrion begged, trying to buy time while he worked his hand slowly to the discarded dagger.

The man wiped at his face, dripping blood onto Tyrion's face. The man was heaving as if he were dying, and blood was smeared all across his face, yet he smiled. "Die, _Imp_," the man said, driving the dirk downwards.

Tyrion caught the man's wrists and desperately tried to force the dirk away, but the man was too strong. He found himself thinking back to his wife. _Oh Tysha, why did you betray me so? _He would have to ask her when they met in the afterlife.

_No! _Tyrion shouted at himself. _Fight you bastard, fight! _He forced the dirk away from his heart, and let it stab into his shoulder. He cried out in pain, but fought through it and reached for the dagger. Feeling the leather grip in his palm, he picked it up and stabbed it into the man's leg. The man howled and released his grip on the dirk. Tyrion ripped the dagger from the man's leg and drove it into his groin. The man screamed and fell backwards, wrenching the dagger out and trying hopelessly to crawl away. He struggled to his feet and stood over the man. "_Fuck . . . you_," Tyrion managed before putting the dagger though the man's throat. Tyrion's strength left him then and he fell to the floor, hitting his head on the rushes.

With the last bit of energy he had, Tyrion rolled himself over and sat against the foot of his bed, weary, but relieved. The door slammed open to reveal Bronn and two Stone Crows, each with their sword drawn and raised. "What took you so long?" he asked, grinning triumphantly. Bronn only smiled in reply. Then Tyrion's head slumped back and he fell into a deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it! Hope you enjoyed! I'd love to see what every ones predictions are for who sent the assassin, and why. Tyrion seems to be of a mind that it was Cersei, but maybe he's wrong ;), or maybe he's absolutely right. Guess we'll see! Next chapter is Ned III.


	13. Ned III

Riding through the gates of Winterfell with Ice strapped on his back was sheer bliss. Riding through them to sound of his people cheering his return lifted his heart all the more. There was not a single face lacking a smile, including his and Jon's. _Home, not just mine, but Jon's as well. It is good to see him smile. _

Ned spotted his sons at the front of the crowd and rode over, coming to a halt next to Jon. They dismounted and approached the two boys. It was good to have Bran awake once more, but seeing him confined to riding in a basket made his heart ache. He had brought this, all of this, down upon his family by siding with Robert so many years ago. Ned shook his head, seeking to clear it. Just as Arthur had said, the past is the past, he could only attempt to do better in the future.

Bran looked to be struggling to stay calm, while Rickon ran straight into Jon's arms. Several of Winterfell's people chuckled at the display. Jon sunk to his knees and hugged him back, whispering something into his ear that made the little boy laugh.

Rickon pulled back to elbow length and looked at Jon curiously. "Maester Luwin said you're a king now."

Jon smiled. "Aye, I guess I am."

"You don't look like a king," Rickon said, prompting more chuckles from the people.

Jon looked himself over, then grinned. "I suppose I don't, do I?"

Rickon shook his head and patted Jon's head. "Where's your crown? Aren't kings supposed to have crowns?"

"Yes they are, and I'll have to get one soon. Wouldn't want all those southron mistaking me for the stableboy. We'll catch up more later, okay?"

Rickon nodded and they both rose to their feet, still smiling. Jon approached Bran with Rickon at his side. "Winterfell is yours, Your Grace," the acting Lord of Winterfell said in a calm, measured voice.

Jon's smile fell away. "There's no need to call me that, Bran, not you . . ."

Ned noticed what was going on and stepped forward, drawing the attention away from Jon. "People of Winterfell, it is good to be home. I would love to speak with each of you before we depart, but His Grace and I are weary from our travels. Please excuse us and we'll speak properly tonight, at the feast."

The crowd began to disperse, but Ned needed to check on one thing. He motioned Mikken over. "It is good to see you again, my lord," said the blacksmith, bowing his head.

"It is good to be seen, Mikken. I did not think I would ever see Winterfell again."

Mikken smiled and pounded Ned on the shoulder. "The gods have a way with helping the just. Is there something you need?"

"Yes, actually. How is the armor coming along? I would like to present it to Jon before the feast tonight, if at all possible."

"The first two are done, and the last will be completed within a fortnight."

"And Jon's?"

"His Grace's was the hardest, given his build, so I completed it first. The cloaks have all been made and are with the armor."

"Good," Ned said, but then he noticed something on Mikken's face, as if he wanted to say more. "What is it, Mikken?"

"My lord, the cost of so much steel-"

Ned held up a hand, cutting him off with a smile. "I knew of the cost when I sent the order, Mikken. Jon deserves this, and he'll have need of it when we ride south."

"So you truly plan to take the Iron Throne? To continue the war?"

Ned sighed deeply. "It was Jon's by right and I kept that from him. I turned a blind eye to what the man I once called brother had become. Now he's dead and a monster sits the Iron Throne. I see no cause more just, Mikken, and I'll fight to my death if needs be. If you'll excuse me, I need to properly greet my sons, then wash the stink of travel from me."

Mikken nodded and walked away. Ned turned back to his family, finding that Jon and the knights were gone, but Arya was hugging Rickon and laughing. He went to them, all his woes forgotten in that moment. When Rickon saw him, he burst into tears and pulled away from Arya to jump into Ned's arms. "Father, they said you were . . ."

"I know, son, I know. It's okay now, I'm okay," he whispered, a few tears falling from his own eyes. Ned held Rickon against him and walked to where Hodor was carrying Bran. He held the side of Bran's face and smiled. "You've done well, holding Winterfell. I'm proud of you."

Bran beamed but a moment, then he frowned. "What happened to Jon? Who are those two men that follow him around?"

"Jon is just not used to being called that yet, especially not from his family. As for the men, they are the knights, Barristan Selmy and Arthur Dayne."

Bran's jaw dropped and he began to bounce up and down in his basket, but then he stilled. "Isn't Ser Arthur dead, Father? You always said he was."

Ned shook his head. "That was a lie, Bran. Just as with Jon, Arthur needed to be hidden. He never intended to bend the knee to Robert Baratheon, so I allowed him to live in winter's town and watch over Jon from afar."

Bran looked at him with wonder in his eyes. The story of his battle with Ser Arthur had always been one of Bran's favorites, even though Ned didn't really like to speak of it. "Can I meet him?" he asked, any trace of the young lord gone, just a boy hoping to meet one of his heroes.

"I don't think either Barristan or Arthur would mind meeting you, though you'll have to wait until later, Bran. It was a hard ride, and all of us could do with a bath." Ned noticed his daughter trying to slip away and motioned her over. "That means you as well, Arya. You can begin your practice with Needle again on the morrow."

"My lord, it lifts the heart to see you once more," a voice Ned recognized as Maester Luwin said.

He set Rickon down and shook the maester's hand. "It is good to see you again as well. Have you seen the knights to chambers?"

"Yes, my lord, they have been given suitable chambers. I also saw the boy that accompanied you to chambers. Lady Arya's and your own have also been prepared, and a warm bath awaits both of you, if you wish it."

Ned had almost forgotten about Gendry. The boy had grown distant during their travels, preferring to ride either a bit ahead or a bit behind their party. He would visit Gendry on the morrow, and hopefully span the gap that remained between them. "I would be most grateful for a warm bath, maester, thank you. We will catch up more at the feast, I'm sure."

"Of course, my lord." Luwin bowed his head and led Rickon away, Hodor following behind them with Bran.

Ned bathed and changed into fresh clothes, then went to find Jon. With direction from Maester Luwin, he arrived outside of Jon's chamber. He knocked and was granted admission. Barristan and Arthur were there as well, and it seemed as though they had been speaking on something unpleasant.

"My lord Hand," Jon greeted formally. The lost look in his eye had disappeared entirely while they traveled from Castle Black. They were far from being any thing other than formal, but Ned could live with this. He would be fine with it, for as long as Jon needed, and longer still if need be.

"Your Grace, I had hoped to give you something before the feast."

Jon looked at him inquisitively.

"Not here," Ned said. "It's at the smithy, there's also something for Ser Barristan and Ser Arthur. If you'll come with me."

"In a moment, first I need to settle something with my Kingsguard. They believe it necessary to keep watch over me at all times. I'll allow that it will need to be done in south, but _here_. This is Winterfell, there is no danger to me while I am within these walls."

"I agree with their assessment, Your Grace. I would like to think you safe behind these walls, but truth be told, who knows what some of them are thinking. You are a Targaryen, and some of them are surely not gladdened by your arrival. I don't believe any would act against you, but it is better to be safe."

"Fine," Jon said, defeated. "I was foolish to believe the only home I have ever known would be safe for me now."

"It's not that," Barristan reassured, "but your life is too important to risk on the actions of an errant serving boy with delusions of grandeur. As Lord Stark said, it is better to be safe."

"You're right," Jon allowed. "I had just hoped to feel safe for a while longer before I have to constantly watch even those that name me friend."

"Your safety came into question the moment you sent that letter," Arthur said. Ned and Barristan nodded their agreement. "Barristan and I watched over your room at Castle Black without saying a word. There are dangers out there, Jon, some we know of and others we don't."

Ned spoke up. "I agree, and that is why I had something made for the three of you. Now, If you'll follow me."

Mikken was at the forge, hammering on a piece of steel, but he stopped at their approach. "Your Grace, my lord, what brings you here?"

"I'd like for them to see what you've been working on," Ned said.

"Of course, my lord," he said, motioning them to follow him deeper into the forge.

At the back, there were three stands, two of which were occupied by a suit of armor, as expected. What Ned didn't expect was the Targaryen surcoat over the breastplate. He looked to Mikken, who grinned and said, "One of the women volunteered to make it. Who was I to tell them no?"

Jon stepped forward and ran a hand down the breastplate, coming to a stop at the three-headed dragon on the surcoat. "This is too much," he said, turning back, a weird look in his eyes. "The cost alone . . ."

Ned smiled at the irony. _Everyone seems bothered with the cost but me. _"Let me worry about the cost, Your Grace. You'll have need of it, and it's the least I can do. The other set is for one of your Kingsguard, with another set to be finished soon."

Jon rushed at Ned and wrapped him in a hug. After a moment, he coughed and stepped away. "Thank you, my lord," he said, his voice heavy with emotion.

"You are most gracious to provide us with this," Barristan said, giving Ned's shoulder a firm squeeze.

"This is some of your finest work yet, Mikken. If you'll give us a moment."

The blacksmith bowed his head and left the room. Arthur laughed. "You've made a fair few mistakes, Lord Stark, as have I, but this is not one of them. Thank you."

Ned nodded. "Mikken can make small adjustments, but he knows Jon, and neither of you are of an odd build or height, so it should be fine. There are also a number of fine swords here, ser, find one that fits and it's yours."

Ser Barristan made no move towards the rack of swords.

"What is it, Barristan?" Jon asked, looking confused.

"I flung my sword at Joffrey's feet and have yet to hold one with an edge since. I will only bear one again if it is given by my king, no other."

Jon smiled and moved to the rack, looking through it for several moments before finding one. He pulled it out and held it out to Ser Barristan. "Take it, ser. You'll need more than a blunted sword where we're headed." The old knight took the sword and tested its weight. "How is it?" Jon asked.

"A perfect choice, Your Grace, I shall wear it with pride," Barristan said, smiling warmly. Jon grabbed a sheathe from the rack and passed it the knight, who slid the sword in and belted it at his waist.

"The feast is not for a while yet," Ned said. "I intend to check with the maester before then, to see what messages have been delivered while we rode. Would you care to join me?"

"Of course, Lord Stark," Jon said. "Let us find out what the realm has to say of me."

The maester's turret was below the rookery, a fact one was not like to forget due to the noise. Today was different though, there was no noise from the floor above, almost as if the world held its breath in anticipation. _Stop being a fool, _Ned chastised himself. They found Maester Luwin at his desk, hunched over a book. "Maester," Ned called, giving the man a start.

"My lord, I had not expected you. Are you feeling ill?"

"I'm quite well, just came to attend to any messages that arrived."

"Ah yes, I have them right here." The maester reached up his sleeve and pulled five scrolls from within. He handed them to Ned and swept from the room, leaving the four of them alone.

Ned took a seat at the maester's desk and studied the seals. The first bore the grey direwolf of House Stark. _Robb, _Ned knew immediately. The second bore the two blue towers of Frey, and Ned could almost feel the old lord's grasping hands, ever reaching for more power. The third bore a sigil he couldn't place. It appeared to be a fiery heart with a stag inside of it. The fourth bore the sigil of House Velaryon; a silver seahorse on sea green. Ned felt his heart drop at the fifth. The seal was halved, a prancing stag on one side, and a golden lion on the other. _Joffrey, _Ned realized, and his heart dropped all the more. _He couldn't have punished Sansa for my crimes. _But Ned had been wrong about a great number of things where that boy was concerned.

"I believe this one is for you, Your Grace." Ned plucked the Frey letter from the pile and handed it to Jon. Then he cracked the seal on Robb's letter and began to read.

_We depart at dawn on the morrow. The lords are coming as commanded, and leaving their men here at Riverrun. That is as far as obedience goes with them. Most openly opposed Jon after finding out the truth, but I have faith we can convince them. The Mormonts, Manderlys, and Freys all support Jon, though I feel Lord Walder will make demands for his continued loyalty. Mother could not be swayed to join us, even after finding out Arya is with you. I do not know what to make of her behavior, Father. We will speak more when I arrive. See you soon._

_Robb_

_Cat . . . _Ned yearned for his wife to be beside him once more. _How could she not want to see the children again?_ He reread the letter, and got an odd feeling. There was more that was left unsaid, something Robb avoided including. It filled Ned with dread to think on what it could be, so he did his best to push the thought aside and looked back at Jon. "What does Lord Walder say?" he asked, hoping for a distraction from his thoughts.

"A great many things," Barristan answered, "though it seems as if Lord Frey is seeking a betrothal pact with Jon."

Ned chuckled bitterly. They had already received word of the two betrothals Lord Walder had swindled from Catelyn, not to mention everything else he got from the deal. Ned was yet to inform Arya of her betrothal, and he hoped to keep it from her for a while longer. He had not made the agreement personally, but Catelyn had spoken with the authority of House Stark and they could not afford to lose an ally as valuable as the Freys, even if their lord was a craven.

"Yes, though I'd sooner give the man steel than a betrothal," Jon stated, his voice flat. "I have respect for those that faced my father in open battle, but a man like him, who sat behind his thick walls to declare for the winner is undeserving of cleaning chamberpots, and will get naught from me." Jon paused and took a deep breath. "Apologies, I should not speak ill of a man sworn to me."

Arthur laid a hand on Jon's shoulder, steadying him. "It's okay, Jon, you're among friends, and I believe that sentiment is shared by all here." Ned echoed the knight's words.

Jon looked over Ned's shoulder at the remaining scrolls. "Which House has a flaming heart for a sigil? I don't recall that one."

"Nor I," Ned said, handing the scroll to Jon. "Why don't you open it and find out?"

Ned broke the seahorse seal and started reading.

_I wish you good fortune in the battles to come, Jon Targaryen. If it were not painfully clear you have no intention to do so, I would urge you to lay down your steel and join your cause to Stannis'. He is a gracious man, and is like to return Dragonstone to its true liege should you swear fealty. The king has granted many honors upon my House for our continued loyalty, including taking my son and heir, Monterys, for his personal page. Many of his other loyal bannermen have been bestowed with similar honors, and have been reaffirmed in their loyalty to King Stannis._

_Lord Monford Velaryon, Master of Driftmark, Lord of the Tides, and loyal bannerman to Dragonstone and its liege _

"Stannis Baratheon has crowned himself. A couple more and it will be as if the conquest never happened," Jon remarked.

"At least this one has a smaller army," Arthur jested bitterly.

Ned held up the letter from Lord Velaryon. "Stannis has locked his bannermen with a chain of false honors. He has taken Lord Monford's son and heir for a page; a hostage with a title, more like. I never expected a move so brazen from a man like Stannis."

"He's desperate," Barristan commented. "The lines honorable men dare not cross fade as desperation sets in. Without those men, his claim lies solely with Dragonstone's garrison and what few Florents champion his cause. He'll do whatever he deems necessary to keep them."

"_If he hurts them_," Jon gritted out.

"What will you do, Your Grace," Arthur prodded, "march on Dragonstone? Impossible. You have not the means nor the men to make it to the island, never mind winning the siege. Turn your mind from them and focus on what you can do." Arthur found a map and laid it out on a table. He pointed at Harrenhal. "There is where your true enemy lies. _Tywin Lannister. _A man King Aerys thought cowed and weak . . . the streets ran red for weeks for such a mistake. Do not make the same."

"_I know_, Arthur, but we can't take Harrenhal with the northmen alone. Renly marches up the Roseroad with the might of the stormlands and the Reach. He's not like to give up his crown, even if it meant beating Tywin Lannister. The riverlands' men are spread out and depleted. Dorne, if they would even assist us, have Renly across their path. Where am I to go if not Dragonstone?"

"The Vale," Ned said.

"Lysa Arryn would rather fling herself from the Giant's Lance than call the Vale to arms," Arthur retorted.

"If only she would," said Jon, frustrated.

"Lysa is of little consequence. I lived at the Eyrie for many a year, fostered under Jon Arryn, and have met a fair few of his principal bannermen. They are the key to the Vale, Your Grace. If they were to go before Lady Arryn and demand leave to join the war, then she would be left with no choice but to accept."

Barristan shook his head. "Your plan is not without merit, Lord Stark, but doomed to fail, I fear. I observed Lysa Arryn during my time under Robert, when he would visit with her husband. She once said that the Mother shaped women to protect their children, and dishonor could only be found in failing to do so. She will never grant leave for her armies to march, no matter how many bannermen come before her."

"And if the Vale marched without her leave? What could she do?" Jon asked.

_What could she do? _Ned asked himself. Not much, truth be told, but there was no honor in asking lords to rebel against their liege. _The Lannisters do not fight with honor, as they have shown time and time again. Why should we hold ourselves to standards our enemies won't?_ Ned decided to keep quiet for the time being. He would follow Jon in this, no matter what path was chosen.

Arthur pointed to a different spot on the map, Gulltown. "People love to speak of the Trident and Robert's _great _victory, but most forget the war actually started in the Vale. Jon Arryn called his bannermen to the Gates of the Moon, and Robert was to take ship from Gulltown to Storm's End. House Grafton refused to act against their king and denied both him and Lord Stark leave to pass through his city."

"I traveled north to the Fingers and found a fisherman to take me to White Harbor," said Ned.

"I've heard this story," Jon said.

"Then you know that Jon Arryn and Robert Baratheon descended on Gulltown. Robert was the first over the walls, and slew Marq Grafton with his own hand. But more to the point, since you've heard this story before, his son, Gerold, is the current lord of the House. Mayhaps he wishes to avenge his father's death."

"Arthur, what are you saying?" Barristan asked. "Both Robert and Jon Arryn are dead."

"Aye, they are, but his father was killed for being loyal to House Targaryen. To seat that king's grandson on the Iron Throne is a far sweeter revenge than simply killing the men responsible."

"And if he never cared for his father?" Ned asked. "What if he's ruled by greed, and decides it would be a quicker profit to sell Jon to the Lannisters?"

"Then that, Lord Stark, is why he has a Kingsguard. But I don't believe it will come to that."

Ned scratched his chin, thinking. "I could send a few ravens . . . Yohn Royce, Anya Waynwood, Horton Redfort. I knew them from my time in the Vale. They may be swayed to go against Lysa-"

"Stop," Jon said abruptly. "I will speak to Lysa Arryn before going down a course such as this. She believes it was the Lannisters that killed her husband, correct?" Ned nodded. "Good, we have a shared enemy then. I would sooner have her for an ally than added another to our growing list of enemies."

Barristan shifted. "Your Grace, all due respect but Lysa is-"

Jon held up his hand, cutting him off. "Lord Stark, send ravens to your companions. Tell them of my hope for an alliance with the Vale, and my wish to avenge their liege's unjust death. Note that any assistance given in convincing Lady Lysa of this will be duly rewarded. Now, I must prepare for the feast, so I shall see you then, my lord." Jon left without waiting for a reply, the knights trailing after him.

Ned sighed and turned back to the final letter. He felt partially ashamed that Jon had been more resistant of asking the Vale lords to rebel than himself. But Ned had also seen what taking the honorable path had wrought upon his House. _Jory . . . Vayon . . . Septa Mordane . . . Hullen . . . Tomard . . . _The list of people that died for his arrogance went on and on. He would not let Jon join that list, even it meant besmirching his honor. He turned his attention back to the letter, cracking the seal and reading it thoroughly.

_The Iron Throne has found House Stark guilty of treason of the highest order. It has been revealed that Eddard Stark has been plotting to crown his bastard in an attempt to gain the throne. His own daughter, Lady Sansa Stark, attested to this fact before a full court, in return for leniency for her own part in Lord Stark's treasons. House Stark is attainted by traitors and rebels and as such, they will renounce their claim to Winterfell and be delivered swift justice. _

_In the name of His Grace, Joffey of the Houses Baratheon and Lannister, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms _

Ned chuckled, but a part of him felt dread. There would be no surrender. The cost of their failure would be death. He set the parchment aside and began drafting the letters for the Vale lords.

Ned sat in the high seat, Jon seated at his right, Bran at his left. The music piped on, loud and cheerful, and he felt his spirits lift with the tune. He forked a slice of aurochs onto his plate and wolfed it down with barely a breath, enjoying the flavor. During his time imprisoned beneath the Red Keep, he had considered a morsel of moldy bread a meal fit for a king, and the travel fare after escaping had lacked in flavor. He had grown lean during that time, and some of his former strength still evaded him, but waiting for Robb to arrive would grant him plenty of time to work on that. And train he would, hard and for as many hours a day as he could, but not this night. Tonight was for celebration, to his and Jon's return to Winterfell, and he intended to enjoy it.

"Father," Bran called from beside him. "Can I speak to Ser Arthur now?" His eyes shone with the hope of a boy entranced by a living legend. One that Ned had allowed them all to believe was dead.

"Let me see," Ned said, looking down the table. Arthur was seated two seats down, between Barristan and Rodrick Cassel. He was glancing around the hall, watching every face that so much as looked in Jon's direction. Ned got out of his seat and went to him, laying a hand on his shoulder.

Arthur jerked his head around, but relaxed when he saw who it was. "Lord Stark, do you need something?"

Ned removed his hand and took a breath. "A favor, Arthur, if you wouldn't mind."

"What is it?"

"My son, Bran, has always had a love for stories. The time I defeated you at the tower is one of his favorites, but we both know it was a lie. He is just shy of begging to meet you, and I thought you might enjoy telling the true story of that day."

Arthur smiled and stood from the chair. "I would gladly speak of the day I bested you, Lord Stark."

"Thank you," Ned said, returning to the high seat. He watched Arthur kneel down beside Bran and the two spoke in tones that could not be heard over the music, but he saw the way his son's face lit up, and that was enough. A hearty stew had been placed in front of him during his absence and Ned didn't hesitate to dig in. He mopped up the remnants of it with a slice of warm, crusty bread, not wanting to waste a drop. A mug of dark ale was set in front of him and he drank deep, quenching his thirst.

"Your Grace," a soft voice said. Ned looked up to find little Beth Cassel, shuffling and red-faced, standing just on the other side of the table from Jon. "Would you do me the honor of a dance?" Her face turned a darker shade of red and she started to turn away, as if she expected Jon to refuse her.

Instead, Jon smiled and stood. "It would be an honor." He walked around the table and took her by the hand, leading her out into the middle of the hall. Jon was graceful as ever, and Beth looked as if her head might burst from excitement. Ned had always figured the girl had an attraction to Jon, and her reaction only made it more obvious.

When the song finished, Jon took her hand and bowed his head, laying a chaste kiss on her knuckles. _He's better at courtesy than he believes himself to be. Rhaegar would've been proud of the man his son became, _Ned thought, and with it came the shame that lingered over his head like a winter storm. He forced the thought aside as Jon made his way back to the high table smiling widely, only to be dragged into another dance by Palla, the daughter of Farlen, the kennelmaster. Then the twins, Shyra and Bandy, danced with him in turn. Beth approached him again after they were done and asked for another dance, which Jon seemed happy to oblige. Finally he made it back to the high table, breathing a bit hard, but his face was plastered with a wide grin.

"You are quite the dancer, Your Grace," Barristan commented.

Jon blushed at the praise, but his smile remained. "It was my partners that deserve your praise, ser, not I. They have the grace and poise of skilled dancers. I was barely able to keep up." Barristan nodded, but the knight's disagreement was plain for all to see.

Arthur appeared behind Jon, grinning. "I saw you dancing, Your Grace, and it almost seemed like you were enjoying yourself. Mayhap not all aspects of being king are _so _bad. There will be a never-ending stream of ladies all but begging for your attention." Jon's blush deepened, making Ned and the knights burst out laughing.

"The day grows late," said Jon, straining to keep his voice even.

"It's barely nightfall . . . not trying to slip away, are you?" Arthur jested.

Jon straightened in his seat. "No, the ride was hard, and I am worn out."

Arthur looked ready to make another jest, but Barristan shook his head and the knight subsided. "Indeed, Your Grace, it was a hard ride."

"Lord Stark, I must take my leave."

"Wait," Ned said. "There is one more thing I need to give to you. It's in my solar."

Jon looked as if he was going to protest, then curiosity must have won out, for he nodded and waited for Ned to stand. Barristan tried to stand as well, but Jon laid a hand on his shoulder. "Stay, enjoy the rest of the feast."

"Your Grace, you need a guard."

"Arthur can guard me," said Jon, then he smiled mischievously. "Wouldn't want any of that never-ending stream of ladies to make their way into my chambers."

Barristan chuckled. "If you insist, Your Grace, thank you."

"Think nothing of it, Barristan. We may as well enjoy it now, there will be little merriment to be found in the south."

"While Joffrey sits the throne, yes," Barristan said, turning back to his food.

Ned left the great hall, Jon and Arthur at his heels. They walked in silence until reaching his solar. This gift should have been given long ago, and he would rectify that now. He pushed the door open and walked inside.

"What is the gift?" Jon asked.

"Just a moment." Ned grabbed a dagger from off his desk and went to the nearby wall. He wedged the blade in between two of the stones and pried, wrenching one loose, then using his hand to drag out the other. "This space is a secret passed down from the lords of Winterfell to their heirs. When the tower was built these stones were cut different, leaving an alcove for storing important documents and such. My father showed Brandon this and told him it was to be a secret from all, even his siblings. The issue was, he made a habit of bucking tradition and showed his brothers and sister anyway." He pulled a long, dusty box from within. "I should have given this to you some time ago, but I was a fool and kept it hidden. Lyanna would have wanted you to have it."

"What's in it?" Jon asked, his posture rigid with tension.

"It'd be better to just see for yourself."

Jon took the box, looking at it as if he were a frightened deer staring into a lion's maw. Then he turned away and walked briskly from the room.

"I should follow," said Arthur.

"Watch over him, Arthur . . ."

The knight nodded and left in pursuit of his king. Ned sat heavy in his chair, yet he felt lighter than he had in some time. _I haven't failed you yet, Lyanna, and I won't. I can make things right for Jon, and for the realm._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Before anyone asks . . . there is not a dragon egg in the box. Sorry to disappoint :(. Next chapter will be Jon II.


	14. Jon II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon gets some gifts, and learns more of Lyanna.

He dreamt of being at the tower of joy, and all around the corpses of the men that had fought because of his birth laid sprawled out across the sands. Not only those that had actually died, but also the corpses of the surviving men. Lord Stark was on his back, a sword lodged in his chest, blood trickling out, staining the surrounding sand a dark crimson. Arthur laid face-first beside him, a dagger stuck through the back of his throat and his body partially covered by sand. The crannogman Howland Reed's face was purple, as if he had been strangled. _No, it can't be true, _he thought, but the dream felt so real.

He dashed into the tower, not wanting to look at the bodies any longer. A sickly-sweet smell of flowers permeated the air, drawing him further on. Jon neared a door and the smell grew even stronger. He put a hand against the door and pushed. The smell of flowers fell away, replaced by that of blood, metallic and slightly sweet. The air grew hot and humid as the door finished swinging open, making Jon's doublet cling to him uncomfortably. A woman lay in a bed that took up most of the room, looking up at him through tear-stained eyes.

"My boy," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Mother," he replied, a war waging within him. A part screamed at him to run, that this was all a dream, but it looked so much like her. Tears fell from his eyes as he moved to the bed, bending down and wrapping her in a tight hug.

She rubbed his back and smiled. "I missed you."

Jon choked back a sob that threatened and managed a weak smile in return. "I wish I had gotten to know you."

"And I you." She drew back to arm's-length and looked at him steadily. "I love you, my son. Always know that."

"I do, mother, and I love you as well."

Lord Stark appeared in the doorway, the sword still jutting from his chest, and the tower fell away. Jon yelled and yelled, trying to bring his mother back, but it was in vain.

He woke with a start, throwing the sheets off and running to the chamberpot. He fell to his knees and retched up his food from the previous night. When the heaving passed, he sat down against the wall and drew his knees up to his chest. _Mother, _he thought, and his mind went to the box that sat waiting in his bed chamber. He hadn't the heart to open it the previous night, choosing instead to flee to his room and spend the night restlessly thinking of its contents. _What could possibly be in there?_ He had asked Lord Stark that very question, but received no helpful answer. _It'd be better to just see for yourself, _he had said.

Jon rose, intent to find the courage to open the box, but failed and decided to bathe. The floor seemed to shift and move beneath his feet, but he managed to remove his smallclothes and climb into the copper bath, still filled with the previous day's water. It had turned cold overnight, but it banished the last remnants of sleep from him and he relished in that. He relaxed against the side of the tub and allowed the cool water to soothe his fevered mind. _That dream wasn't real. Lord Stark and Arthur are alive, I saw them just last night, _he reminded himself.

After a while, the water made the skin on his fingers wrinkle and his mind burned with curiosity. He got up from the tub and toweled dry, then retrieved his breeches and slid into them.

The box was still by his bed, just where he left it. The wood showed signs of wear, was a foot and a half long and hinged at the back. Jon looked at it for a good while before gaining the nerve to lift it from the floor and onto his bed. He unlatched the box and lifted the lid, his fingers trembling slightly. Whether it was with trepidation or excitement, he couldn't be certain.

Across the top of the interior, a cloak of black velvet lay trimmed in red. Jon lifted the cloak by its collar, revealing the three-headed dragon of his House sewn onto the fabric. _A bride's cloak . . . my mother's bride's cloak, _he realized. He held the cloak against his face, relishing in the softness of it as his eyes welled with tears. _Father draped this around my mother's shoulders the day they wed. _The thought brought a different one, unbidden, that he had been purposefully avoiding. His own marriage could not be one of love, but for an alliance and more men. Too much weighed on his shoulders to allow for anything else.

He laid the cloak out on his bed and grabbed the next item from within the box. It was a silver three-headed dragon brooch, set with small circle-cut rubies for eyes. _I will wear it with pride, _Jon thought. He set it aside and went to grab the next item. A sharp point cut into Jon's finger, making him curse and draw his hand back. _ What in seven hells was that? _He wiped his hand on his breeches and peered into the box. Jon sucked in a breath as he took it in. _It can't be . . . _He reached in and picked it up, studying it closely. A band of red gold, with sharp black iron spikes jutting up from the band. A strange urge overtaking him, Jon lifted the crown and placed it on his head. It was heavy, yet it fit him perfectly.

He picked up the final item; a leather-bound book, the corners somewhat worn but otherwise unmarred. Jon flipped it open and read the inside cover.

_Lyanna of House Stark_

He snapped it shut, a bit harder than he intended. This was his mother's words and thoughts, and to say he was anything other than terrified would come up short. He had heard some stories of her, both before and after learning the truth, but this was different. This wasn't just a recollection of events or what someone thought of her . . . this was _her. _His hands trembled fiercely, but he managed to flip the book open to a page and began to read.

_His voice is beautiful, and the song . . . oh the song, so sad and tragic, it felt as though the prince was singing of himself. I couldn't help but cry, though only a little bit . . . but then Benjen, like always, has to be stupid and ruin the moment. I hope those wine stains never come out. Those squires were there too, and they seemed far too pleased with themselves. I pointed them out to Brandon and Ned, but one seems more interested in the women, and the other is so enamored of Robert that they should be the ones betrothed, and leave me out of it. The squires will get theirs, even if my elder brothers are too full of themselves to help. I have a plan, and I've enlisted Benjen to help. It is crazy and reckless, but it'll work._

Jon flipped to the next page and continued reading.

_Benjen found me the armor I require, it is ill-fitting but it will serve. I'm going to challenge those squires' knights to joust. I'm the best rider in all the north, or so Father's bannermen say, but the lance is much heavier than I expected. I can hold it well enough, but maneuvering it is difficult. Luckily the knights are of little renown, and they seem less equipped to sit a horse than I. I'm going with a smiling weirwood as my sigil, for how I will feel as I unhorse them with ease. This should be fun._

_I beat those knights with ease. Just as I thought, two of them were so drunk they could barely keep their seats. The last knight was a better rider, though no less drunk. It took three tilts before I finally struck him square in the chest. Gods, the feeling of it all. It is a wonder more ladies don't take up jousting. The knights are poor, so I returned their horse and armor for a price. The demand was quite generous, only that they teach their squires respect. But things are bad now. Robert and Richard Lonmouth are determined to unmask me, and the king believes that my sigil was meant to mock him. The armor and shield are still in my tent. Benjen is the only one that knows what I did, and he would never tell, but I have to get rid of the armor._

Jon couldn't believe what he was reading. _She was as fierce as the stories say, protecting the honor of those who could not. I hope one day I can do her proud. _He flipped the page and continued reading.

_Rhaegar is a better man than I thought. He's not self-centered or cruel, like the king, but kind and understanding. I was in the woods, scared and alone. At times I could hear men speaking nearby and I knew that the king had sent them after me. As I struggled to free myself from the damned armor, I heard a laugh. I turned and the crown prince was standing there with Ser Arthur Dayne, both of them smiling. They were supposed to turn me in, and I was prepared to fight them if needs be, but the strangest thing happened. They helped me out of the armor and Ser Arthur went to dispose of it. Rhaegar stayed with me and we spoke of much and more. He was impressed by my prowess on the field, as he should be, and the reasoning why I did such a thing. Robert never would have understood why I jousted. He is obsessed with what he thinks he sees in me. Rhaegar is different. He sees me, not just the perfect lady, or the fierce she-wolf, but the mixture of the two that make me whole. He is perfect, but he can never be mine. My only future is Robert, and try as I might, there is no helping it. _

_Gods, I don't know what he was thinking. Crowning me the queen of love and beauty over his own wife. Damn him, the fool. The crowd thundered for their champion, their perfect dragon prince, but when he passed by his wife to lay the crown in my lap, all noise died. Never have I seen the mood of the people sour quicker than it did then. I never even got to speak with Rhaegar, to ask him why he would do such a thing. The king commanded him to return to King's Landing. Ever the dutiful son and prince, he left at once, leaving me there holding a crown of winter roses and filled with far too many questions. I had mentioned to Rhaegar that they are my favorite flower. Could that have been why he crowned me? No, it had to be more . . . it felt like more than just a simple act of kindness. The way he looked at me, holding the crown from the end of his lance, so hopeful, as if he was scared I might reject him. I should have, but I couldn't bring myself to do it._

Jon flipped forward several pages before he found what he was looking for.

_It is crazy and reckless, I shouldn't have done it . . . we shouldn't have done it, but how could we not. Lord Rickard will never allow me to follow my heart, so I didn't tell him. Benjen would understand and Brandon might, given his infatuation for Barbrey Ryswell, but Ned would never understand. He thinks that for no particular reason, Robert would stop whoremongering once he wed me. Robert be damned for I am free at last, and with a man I truly love. We were made for each other, and I can't be apart from him. I know that now, being back in his company after what felt like ages. I thought I would never feel loved, but Rhaegar's here solely because he loves me, and damn the consequences. We're running away to Dorne together to be wed. Somehow Rhaegar has convinced some of Aerys' Kingsguard to help him, but the king has no idea what his son is doing. Arthur is a kind man, I like him, and I can tell he and Rhaegar are close. Oswell has a dark sense of humor, but I think he is a good man. I could not have hoped for better traveling companions._

_Rhaegar knows I worship the old gods so he arranged for us to be wed before them on the Isle of Faces. It was such a beautiful ceremony. Rhaegar draped me in a beautiful bride's cloak of black velvet. Oswell oversaw the ceremony, and Arthur gave me away. I wish it could have been Father or Brandon to give me away, but neither can be trusted to keep our secret, so Rhaegar's best friend had to do, and I am okay with that. Arthur is an easily likeable man, noble and chivalrous, but also funny and easy-going. I can see why he is Rhaegar's closest confidant. Rhaegar and I also spoke of the bedding and agree it would be better to wait until after we are wed before the New Gods. To say I'm disappointed is a vast understatement, but I understand. I would not want any children that came from our union to be seen as bastards in the eyes of the realm, even though I would love them just as well either way. Rhaegar said he has spoken with Elia, and she is to meet us in Dorne. He assures me everything will be okay, but I'm still nervous about meeting my husband's first wife._

Jon's eyes misted over. Even then, they were thinking of him, trying to make sure he would have the best life possible. He flipped to the pages of her wedding in Dorne.

_My fear of Elia Martell was misplaced and foolish of me. She embraced me as a sister would when we first met, and seemed excited that Rhaegar had found some he loved more than life itself. Rhaegar even roped the High Septon into our schemes. He annulled Rhaegar and Elia's marriage, which she was fine with so long as her children were not displaced. That is okay with me, Elia is sacrificing a lot so Rhaegar and I can be happy, and I do not care for power. Any children of mine will be raised to feel the same, or they will learn I'm not called the she-wolf of Winterfell for nothing._

_The ceremony was beautiful, though I feel it was a bit too much. The southron certainly love to make a show of everything. Elia provided the dress for me, and even helped me get ready. I can't believe how kind she is. I hope she'll stay in King's Landing with her children, even though she's not married to Rhaegar anymore. She is an absolute pleasure to have around. Each moment I spend with her, I can feel us growing closer. She is returning to Dragonstone on the morrow though. They aren't certain of their children's safety while she is away, and she wants to be there with them. Rhaegar will remain here with me though, and gods am I glad for that. The bedding was the best thing I've ever felt, even if it hurt at first. And his manhood-_

Jon snapped the diary shut, feeling uncomfortable. He went to run a hand through his hair, only to bang it against the crown. Jon sighed and flipped the diary open again.

_It has been a moon since I last bled. I think I might be pregnant. It's hard to describe how I feel. If I had been pregnant the day I wed, all I would've felt was happiness, but so much has changed since then. I've written it in here so many times by now I've lost count, but each entry feels no more real than the last. I knew what we were doing was foolish, but I never knew that Brandon and Father would die for my choices. Brandon rode to King's Landing three moons past . . . of all the places in the Seven Kingdoms, he thought I would be there. Then Father rode to answer for his son's crimes in a trial by combat, and lost to what the king refers to as his House's champion . . . fire. He died screaming, and Brandon strangled himself trying to save him. My father and eldest brother, both gone in a day, and I just don't understand how this came to be. I sent letters to Father at Winterfell. Did he not care, or did he not get them? Did Lady Ashara destroy them? I just don't know anymore. Rhaegar spends half the day apologizing and the other half brooding by the window, muttering about some prophecy. I'm going to tell him I'm pregnant on the morrow, and I don't know how he'll take it._

_It is the tower of joy once more. The news filled Rhaegar with excitement, and it has rubbed off on me as well, though I still grieve for my family. When I told him, he ran across the room to wrap me in a tight hug and kiss me half a hundred times. Every night now, whether he falls asleep like that or not, by the morn his hand is splayed out protectively across my waist. I might have thought it stupid some time ago, but now I think it is exceptionally sweet. My dragon prince will make a great father to our children. I know it is foolish, but I can feel the babe inside of me, even this early, and I know it will be a boy. Rhaegar disagrees, he thinks it will be a girl because of some prophecy nonsense. I'll show him, I am a mother, and we know these things._

Jon wiped the tears from his eyes and flipped through a few pages before coming to a stop. A single word was written out in the middle of the page, and Jon knew immediately what it meant.

_Rebellion_

He flipped a few more pages. He would read the entirety of her diary at a time, but for now he needed to know certain things.

_Ser Gerold Hightower arrived today, and with him comes terrible news. Rhaegar has been commanded to return to King's Landing, to lead the royal army in his father's name. It is not as though Aerys could do it, no, he has to take Rhaegar from me when I am just a few more moons from giving birth. Gerold is going to stay here and help guard me, but what consolation is that when I must say goodbye to my love. He promises when the rebellion is done things will be different. There will be no more hiding, no more secrets. He will set things right and depose his mad father, then bring me to court to raise our child for all the realm to see. It is a pretty dream, but this is war. What if Rhaegar falls in battle? What am I to do then? I can't shake the feeling I said goodbye to him for the last time. The Kingsguard are no comfort. They all believe him to be invincible, it would seem. I don't know what I'll do if they are wrong._

Jon flipped to the page he had been dreading reading . . . the page he knew would be filled with the sorrow of his grieving mother.

_Pain . . . I feel naught but that and anger. All joy awaits with my husband in the afterlife. I can’t join him yet though, he would not want that. First, I will see our child safely into this world, then I will have my revenge. Robert will beg for mercy before I am through with him. He dare take my one true love from this world and claim it is all for me. I can't eat, I barely sleep. I worry it isn't good for the babe, but I can't help it. This pain is too fresh and everything around me is a reminder of what I lost, but I won't fail our child, Rhaegar, I won't . . . I promise you that. _

With trembling hands, Jon flipped to the final page and something fell out onto the bed. It was a winter rose, pressed and preserved over all these years, still blue and with a faint smell. Jon left it on his bed and turned his attention back to the page, fear almost overtaking him.

_My son . . . something is wrong. I don't know if I'm going to make it, but I will see you into this world. I wish things could have been different, that you could have grown up knowing a father and mother's love, with a sister to watch over you, and a brother to cause mischief with. You won't have that, but times will not always be bleak. Arthur will watch over you, he is a good man, and I know he will do what's right. I hope I am wrong and I will be able to raise you myself, but I don't want you to grow up thinking I didn't care for you. You are my greatest achievement and there is not a moment I regret having you. I love you more than you will ever know, as did your father. You are the one good thing to come from all this bad, and I know you will grow to do great things, just like your father. I will always be with you. You are starting to really move around, my love, I believe it is time for you to greet this world. I love you._

Jon fell to his knees and broke down in earnest. His family had deserved better than _this_. _Mother, Father, Rhaenys, Aegon, Elia . . . _They deserved to grow up in a time of peace, to live and love, but they would never get that. He would see their deaths avenged and the realm at peace, but before there could be peace, there would have to be war. The Lannisters would never stop, and Jon wasn't sure they could _be_ stopped.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts and he forced himself to his feet. He wanted to send them away, but it could be important, and he needed something else to focus on. "Come in," he said, his voice sounding off.

The door swung open to reveal Rickon, holding a wooden sword in each of his hands. Arthur shut the door behind him, a warm smile the last thing Jon saw before it clicked shut.

"Hey Jon," Rickon said, looking nervous. "I know you're a king now and all, but will you play with me?"

Jon smiled, despite himself, and wrapped Rickon in a tight hug. The little boy gasped and started squirming. Jon let go of him, a bit hurt before he noticed the awe on Rickon's face.

"Where did you get that?" Rickon asked, gingerly poking the crown's band.

"My father left it for me," Jon answered, pulling the crown off to give him a better look.

"Father gave you this?"

"No . . . well yes, Lord Stark gave it to me, but it is from my father Rhaegar."

Rickon's eyes welled with fresh tears. "You're not my brother anymore, are you? Bran said you're our cousin."

Jon set the crown on the bed, then pulled him back into an embrace. "By blood, yes, but I'll always see you as my little brother. You are my family, and I care for you as much as a brother would. Do you understand?" _I still have family left, and they need to be protected just as the rest of my family deserves to be avenged._

The little boy nodded, then squirmed out of his grasp once more. "Can we go play at swords, Jon? I'm old enough now."

Jon looked to the pressed winter rose lying on his bed. "There is something I must do first, but I would be glad to play with you afterwards."

"Can I come with you?"

"Aye, you can Rickon, so long as you're not scared of going down into the crypts," Jon teased.

"_I'm not scared_," said Rickon, drawing himself up as well as a boy of six name days could.

"Alright, let's go then." Jon grabbed a clean tunic and put it on, then grabbed the winter rose and carefully placed it in his pocket. He grabbed the crown and put it back on. _I'll need to get used to wearing it, _he told himself. Jon left the room, Rickon keeping pace beside him.

"Your Grace," Arthur said, falling in behind his king.

"Arthur, I have a question. How did Father get this crown?"

"When Aerys' father died, the crown was placed back in the Red Keep's vault. Rhaegar took it before he went to meet with Lyanna at the God's Eye. It was to be his crown when he took the throne, but that never came to be, so it remained at the tower until Lord Stark arrived. I see it fits you quite well."

Jon felt his cheeks warm. "Yes well, as I said, I'll have need of one in the south. I look more like a stableboy than what you would expect of a Targaryen king."

Arthur chuckled. "That would certainly be a spectacle to behold. Some fat lordly type dismounts his horse and tries to pass the reins to his king."

Jon couldn't help but laugh along with Rickon and Arthur. "Aye, that would be a sight. As would his face when he realized what he'd done." A fresh wave of laughter rolled over the three of them, but then they reached the entrance of the crypts and it died away. "Stay here and guard the entry, Arthur, we won't be long." Arthur nodded and turned his back to the entrance.

He grabbed a torch from its sconce and descended the winding stone steps. Rickon followed behind, a hand firmly grasping Jon's elbow. _He's scared, _he knew, _but he's trying to be brave for me. _Jon loved him all the more for that.

They reached the bottom and emerged out among the Stark kings of old. Each had an iron longsword laid across their lap and a direwolf curled at their feet. The oldest kings' longswords had rusted away to nothing, leaving only red stains where it had once been.

Finally, they found the set of three statues that they were searching for. At the front sat Lord Rickard, Jon and Rickon's grandfather. At Lord Rickard's right sat his son Brandon. Jon felt sorry for them. They were but another two of the many casualties of Robert's Rebellion though, and he was not here for them. He was here for his mother . . .

The statue of Lyanna Stark could not have been what she looked like. The stonemason must have not known her well, Jon concluded, but it made no matter. It was only stone, and the woman that gave her life bringing him into this world laid beneath the stone, not within it. He reached out a hand and gingerly brushed the statue's cheek. It felt _wrong_, and he drew back his hand. "She should be alive . . . she should've been here to help me," he whispered, fighting with the tears that threatened. He felt a little warm hand grab onto his own, and he looked down to find Rickon smiling at him.

"You have us, Jon, we'll help you. Me and Bran and Arya and Robb and Father. You're not alone."

A few tears fell free, yet Jon smiled. "Aye, I'll always have you all. They've taken too much from me all ready." He ruffled Rickon's hair with his free hand, then took the winter rose from his pocket. "I'll do you proud, Mother," he said, laying the flower on the statue's pedestal.

"Are you okay now?" Rickon asked. "It's okay if you're not . . . you don't have to be, not with family."

"I'm not," Jon said, feeling better than he had in weeks, "but I will be." He smiled. "Now come on, let's go see what you've learned with that wooden sword of yours."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I know there was a lot of dark things here and I do apologize, but it was necessary for Jon's continued growth, both as a man and a king. Hope you all have a great Sunday! I'll be spending mine writing and cheering on the Chiefs. Go Mahomes! Next chapter will be Tyrion II.


	15. Tyrion II

A knock at the door stirred Tyrion from his work. For the last fortnight he had hardly slept, working from dawn to dusk to fix his sister's and nephew's numerous messes. The constant worry of Cersei sending another assassin was always there as well. He hadn't found the evidence needed to prove it was her, but who else could it have been? _Joffrey, Vylarr, Littlefinger, Varys, _a voice answered. He hated that voice.

The knock came again, this time more insistent. Tyrion had half a mind to send whoever it was away, then thought better of it. If he was to be Hand, then he would need to get used to dealing with unwelcome guests. "Come in," he said, taking a sip from his goblet. It was no Arbor gold, but it helped to clear his mind and drive the pain from his shoulder.

Varys swept into the room, dressed in a silk robe and stinking of strong perfumes and oils. "My lord Hand, I have worried for you these past few weeks. I visited you at your sick bed, though I don't know if you would remember. How are you recovering?"

Tyrion pursed his lips, biting his tongue. The eunuch cared not a lick for his health. He wanted something, courtesy was just his way of getting it. He took a sip of wine and said, "I'm doing much better, thank you for your concern. Truth be told, my work keeps me too busy to worry of such things."

"Just as it keeps you from visiting your fair lady?" Varys asked, his lips upturned in a strange sort of smile.

It took every ounce of Tyrion's strength to keep from reacting to the eunuch's words. _How could he have found her? No, he couldn't have found her, _he assured himself. _The eunuch is only digging for information. _"I'm not sure what you mean by that, my lord," he said, straining to keep his voice even. "I am unwed, you know this."

"Ah, but one does not need to be wed to bed a woman, does he? I was but a boy when I lost my manhood, yet I do not recall any tales of brothels requiring marriage."

Tyrion straightened in his seat. "What are you implying?"

Varys raised his hands in mock surrender. "I imply nothing, my lord, though I am surprised you would leave her in a place such as the Broken Anvil. Such a dangerous place, filled with rouges and ruffians. I shiver at the thought of what they might do to such a sweet girl, given half the chance."

_You dare threaten Shae while in a tower filled with my men? What are you playing at, eunuch? _"I'm still unsure what you mean. Any man with eyes can see that I rarely leave this tower unless on official business."

"Eyes, yes . . . have you ever seen the Gate of the Gods, my lord? The carvings there truly are exquisite. Their eyes are so expressive, they almost seem to follow you as you pass beneath the portcullis. Surely you have noticed them before? Try as I might, I can’t help but weep each time I do."

_So that is when you made us, Varys. I was a fool thinking I could have Shae in King's Landing. _"I have seen them, though they evoke a different reaction in me . . . one of anger. I despise feeling watched, if you can believe it. Sometimes I wish I could carve the eyes from the gate, if only to gain a moment's peace."

Varys gasped, seeming genuinely surprised. "Surely you jest, my lord. You would defile a work of art? Mayhap I misjudged you."

Tyrion chuckled dryly. "A crime oft committed against a man such as myself, I shan't hold it against you. I much prefer the Lion Gate. Huge and menacing, just as a lion should be, but there is more to them than just that. Lions are fiercely protective of their mates, and woe unto any man foolish enough to attempt harming them." _See Varys, I speak your language._

Varys laughed. "Well then, I sincerely hope that I never find myself at odds with a lion. It would certainly end poorly for me."

"Yes it would," Tyrion agreed.

A silence fell over them, each man weighing the other. Varys was smarter than the other council members, Tyrion now knew, and would not be so easily disposed of as Janos Slynt had been, if it came to that.

Finally, Varys spoke. "I was most pleased to hear that you took my advice for Lord Slynt's replacement. Ser Jacelyn Bywater is a most leal man, and he should serve you well in your endeavors."

"I do not recall any such advice," he responded, his eyes narrowing.

"Surely you must," Varys insisted, his expression turning fretful. "It was when I visited you at your sickbed. You were quite out of it . . . Grand Maester Pycelle had given you milk of the poppy, but you spoke animatedly of your hate for Janos Slynt, and your desire to replace him. I merely suggested a man I knew to be good and true, as I imagined you would want in a commander of the city guard. You seemed pleased with the suggestion, then promptly fell into a deep sleep. You truly don't remember any of this?"

Tyrion cursed inwardly, though outwardly his face portrayed nothing, as if it were chiseled from stone. _Thrice-damned milk of the poppy, I never should've allowed for my senses to be dulled. _He would need to be more vigilant in the future. "Apologies, but no, I don't even recall you at my sick bed. I suppose thanks are in order. Thank you Varys, Ser Jacelyn is an honorable man and will do well as commander."

Varys nodded in acknowledgement. "Much better than that dreadful man Lord Janos wanted named for his successor. Allar Deem, wasn't it? I might have killed him myself, if I had the courage for such a thing. To rip a babe from her mother's arms and just murder it . . . right there in front of her eyes. Then to take the mother's life as well . . . _monstrous._" A tear fell from the eunuch's eye. He wiped it away and said, "Men like that do not deserve to live, wouldn't you agree?"

Tyrion swirled the wine in his goblet, then took a small sip. "Allar Deem is no longer a concern. He has been dispatched to the Wall with Janos Slynt and a few others. All of them equal in cruelty to Allar, I assure you." He hated this back and forth, but such were the ways of court.

"You do the city a kindness by their departure, my lord. Such monsters have no right roaming free, terrorizing the smallfolk. The Night's Watch is an appropriate place to send them, though I am surprised you would send them there, given what happened."

_You'll have to try harder if you wish to catch me, Varys. You may know that I know, but you will hear naught from me. _Tyrion cocked his head, playing up his confusion. "Has the Wall fallen? I am unaware of any reason that I should avoid sending criminals to the Night's Watch. After all, that is what they are for."

"Can you keep a secret, my lord?" Varys asked.

Tyrion leaned forward in his seat. "Of course I can, Varys, what is it?"

"Her Grace ordered it hidden from all, save for the small council and those who already knew . . . but you are now of the small council, are you not?" At Tyrion's nod and smile, he continued, "It was a brother of the Night's Watch that attempted to kidnap Lady Sansa, Yoren his name was. I have not been able to figure out how he could have snuck into this tower. There were Lannister guards at the entrance at all times, so unless he could fly, I don't see how he could've done it. I often spend my days pondering it."

Tyrion took a sip from his goblet. _I very much doubt you spend any time at all pondering it. _"A mystery not worth the time it would take to solve, I fear. What's done is done, and we must look to the future. My sister never mentioned such a thing when we spoke, so I sent the criminals where they belong. If I had known, I may have just took their heads. Perhaps for some, that would have been a kindness. The Wall is dreadfully cold, my lord, with little warmth to be found, and it was still summer when I visited."

Varys laughed. "I shall take your word for it. I much prefer our fair city, and am not like to leave unless duty demands."

Tyrion stood from his seat. _It is time to end this farce._ "I appreciate the conversation, my friend, but I must return to my work. If I had known that being Hand involved all this, then I might've thought to refuse my father when he asked. Please, allow me to see you out." He walked around the desk, but Varys did not move from his seat.

"My lord," Varys hesitantly began. "I see you as a friend as well, and am gladdened that you feel the same. As your friend, I feel it is my duty to inform you of any dangers to your person. The queen is furious you sent Janos Slynt to the Wall, because of what happened with Yoren, you see. She is making plans to come here, and she will not come alone . . . at least four armed guards will be with her. I fear for your safety, my lord, if she were to think you sent him there to slight her . . ."

"Thank you for your concern, but it was only a simple misunderstanding. I'm sure the queen and I will be able to work it out. She will not hurt me, above all else we are still family." The words were only half a lie. _She _would not harm him, though his sister had proven she had no qualms with sending other men to do it for her. _Joffrey, Vylarr, Littlefinger, Varys._

Varys stood and offered a weak half-smile. "I am glad you can be so certain, my lord. I for one will not stop worrying for you until you are seen safely on the morrow."

Tyrion led him to the door and opened it. "Thank you again Lord Varys, for the information and your concern. I shall see you on the morrow."

When the eunuch began his descent of the stairs, Tyrion cursed and waved Bronn into the room. "Your little chat went well, I guess," the sellsword commented.

Tyrion cursed again. "He knows of Shae . . ."

Bronn sat down and poured himself a goblet of wine, drinking deep. "Need me to do him like Ser Vardis, aye?"

Tyrion sighed deeply. "If only it were that easy. The man is more cunning than Janos, and far less prone to honorable stupidity like Ser Vardis. Plus, I'm not certain he is an enemy as of yet. He has provided me with some very useful information."

"Oh yeah, and what would that be?" Bronn asked, chuckling as he spoke.

"My sister is coming for a visit . . . with armed swords, to see me pay for sending Slynt to the Wall."

Bronn snorted and refilled his goblet. "That fat cunt . . . why would the queen care where you sent him? I'd have sent the man to his grave myself, but you highborn do so love sending people to that place."

Tyrion chuckled, taking his own seat. He was quite fond of Bronn's way of thinking. "That is just the thing, she doesn't care about Janos, or where I sent him. She is furious that I won't dance to her song, and that is a far greater offense than sending men to the Wall. That is why I must stay away from Shae, I will not risk her safety until I can ensure my own."

"She's constantly spouting how much she misses her giant of Lannister. There's some singer that's been hanging around her at the manse. Symond Silver Tongue, he calls himself. Have a mind to cut it out, find out if it's truly silver."

Tyrion scratched his chin, thinking dark thoughts. _Has Cersei already found her? I may need to send her from the city. _If needs be, he could get her a manse in Lannisport. Perhaps it had been selfish of him, keeping her so close. "I can't risk visiting, but this Symond bodes ill. One misspoken word and he will know who's she is. Have Chella watch him closely," he finally said, closing himself off to the idea of sending Shae away. No one would hurt her so long as Tyrion still drew breath, so he just needed to focus on staying alive. "Send for a cask of Arbor gold to be brought up. Only the best for my sweet sister. Oh, and gather some men. Six should suffice, yourself and five others. Make sure Shagga is among them. He has a talent for unnerving the most courageous of men, and I would put it to good use."

Bronn nodded and left to carry out his orders. _At least he doesn't want me dead, so long as I pay him not to. _Tyrion looked down at the wine in his goblet. It was a dark crimson of a similar hue to Lannister red. _Too close_, he decided. He poured the wine out on to the floor, hoping it would be the only thing spilling in the Tower of the Hand that night.

An hour later, Cersei burst into his solar, four gold cloaks following closely behind her. Tyrion had to hand it to her, she knew how to make an entrance, albeit an expected one. She dressed in fine floor-length golden silks, with several gold bracelets on both wrists. Emerald green eyes sparkled with her murderous intent. Or was that joy he noticed as she peered at him? Mayhap the two were one in the same for his sister.

"Cersei," he greeted amiably, setting aside the document he had been pretending to read. Bronn and the other men moved past the queen's guards to stand behind him. Shagga looked as menacing as Tyrion had hoped he would, as did the other four Bronn had chosen. Each of them were tall, broad, and had the look of killers, for that was what they were. _Good_, Tyrion thought, _let Cersei wet her smallclothes. _"I am pleased you came to visit, there is much we need to speak on.

"You dare attempt to ply me with honeyed words, while your actions speak plainly of the treason you commit," Cersei spat.

Her tone was filled with spite and rage. It amused Tyrion to no end, even if he couldn't show it. "I don't know what treasons you speak of," he said, waving to the open seat and flagon of Arbor gold. "Come and sit, sweet sister, surely this must be a misunderstanding."

Cersei did not take the seat, though she did take a step forward. "You know of what I speak, Tyrion, don't take me for a fool. You would not have these _savages _surrounding you if you did not."

He chuckled. "I could say the same of you, Cersei, but I would not begrudge you the want to feel safe. After the attempt on my life, I have taken certain measures to ensure it does not happen again. You may have noticed all the men on your way by? Two at the bottom of the stairs, two at the top, another two at both the doors of my bedchamber and solar. They are posted there at all times, even if I am not within the tower. I do not attend any meeting unless I am accompanied by at least two men. They normally wait without, but you are the queen, and they have wanted to meet you."

"I don't care what you or your savages _want_. You're going to answer for your treasons."

Tyrion put a hand to his chest and hunched over slightly. "You wound me, dear sister, and my men for that matter. Bronn is no savage, isn't that right?"

"Aye, my lord, I'd say I'm downright chivalrous," the sellsword responded, grinning insolently at the queen. "These others though . . ."

Tyrion laughed and the queen reddened with fury. "Yes, well, I suppose they can be quite savage, if I ask it-"

"Seize him," she ordered, looking to her gold cloaks. The men drew their swords, but they seemed rooted to their spots, as if they had been turned into trees at the thought of facing the savage clansmen.

Tyrion's men were not afraid of her guards. They drew their weapons and advanced around the desk, but he held up a hand and they stilled. He smiled at his sister's shocked expression. "Put away your weapons and come back here . . . before these fine soldiers piss themselves." The clansmen grunted their disappointment, but sheathed their weapons all the same.

The gold cloaks however, did not sheath their swords. They took a cautious step toward him, seemingly finding their courage. "Careful, Cersei," he warned, his men readying themselves once more. "My bedchamber is still rank with the stench of blood, even after all these weeks. I would so hate for my solar to reek of the same."

Cersei drew herself up, yet she ordered her men to halt. "I'm not frightened by you."

Tyrion smiled. "Nor should you be, you're family, I would not harm you." His smile fell away, replaced by a look of steel. "I will _not_ promise the same for your men."

She faltered in her fury as the conviction in his voice struck deep within her. "Stand down," Cersei said, taking the seat across from him. "There is still the matter of your treason, Tyrion."

"Of course, sweet sister, as I said earlier, we have much to speak on. Just have your men wait without and we can speak properly, as siblings should."

"I won't send my men away while your savages remain."

Tyrion waved Bronn forward. "Escort these fine men to the Small Hall and see them to food and drink. I would not have it said of me that I am a poor host."

Bronn, to his credit, knew better than to make a jest in that moment. He nodded and led the gold cloaks from the room, the five clansmen sullenly trailing after.

"Now that the unpleasantness is done, what is this nonsense about treason?" Tyrion asked, filling his goblet.

"It is more than mere nonsense. You would do well to remember that before belittling your crimes. You had Janos Slynt sent to the Night's Watch without permission from myself or the king."

Tyrion was tempted to point out the irony of placing her own need for permission before the king's, but quickly decided against it. "I was not aware of any such need. As Hand, it is well within my rights to dispense justice. The man was an upjumped butcher's son, guilty of numerous crimes and the Wall is in need of men. I sent several others as well . . . there's a list of their names right here, if you'd like to take a look." He gestured to a piece of parchment laying at the end of his desk.

"Your little list doesn't interest me. I want . . . _no_, I demand to know of the crimes for which Lord Janos was convicted."

"Many, but the one you seem determined to pin on my cloak is chief among them. He committed treason, sister, and that is why he was sentenced to the Night's Watch."

"_Treason_," said Cersei, her anger returned in full. "What treason?"

Tyrion took a drink from his goblet, then set it aside, picking up the parchment he needed. It was blank, but Cersei need not be aware of that. "Janos Slynt acted of his own volition, against the crown's interests. He ordered a man, Allar Deem, to go to a brothel, where he then murdered a babe and her mother. It has only served to further ruin the smallfolks opinion of us, not that it can get much lower. There had to be a harsh punishment delivered to the men responsible. Short of taking their heads, the Wall was my only option."

"The whore and Robert's whelp? Janos didn't give the order, I-" She stopped suddenly, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Tyrion cocked his head, grinning crookedly. "Apologies, Cersei, but I must've have missed that. What were you saying?"

She kept her mouth shut, glaring daggers at him.

"It is as I thought, you sent another to do the deed while you pretend to have taken no part. This is the price of your cruelty, sister. It is for the best that you forget Janos Slynt. The only way to confirm his innocence is to admit your guilt, and that will never happen." He sat back and took a large gulp from his goblet, then said, "So, now that we have resolved that mess, is there anything else you need?"

"The matter of your treason remains unresolved, _brother_. You sent the man to a place attainted with traitors and criminals."

_Ah, and now to the root of your grievance . . . Yoren. _He made a show of glancing around the room, then laughed. "Well, yes, I suppose they are, but they have been that way for thousands of years. You can't mean to cleanse the Wall of criminals. Their numbers would dwindle to a paltry amount of older knights and a few green boys still wet with dreams of glory and honor. I simply can't allow that."

"There was a man of the Night's Watch," she began, hesitant though no less arrogant. "He broke into the Red Keep and attempted to kidnap Sansa Stark. The man's name was Yoren."

His eyes narrowed. "This was never mentioned to me. Why should I believe a word of it? You withheld this information when I would have needed it, only using it now to accuse me of treason."

Cersei poured a goblet of wine for herself, drinking deep before she spoke. "Sansa confirmed the man's identity. She would not lie to me."

"I'm afraid you have me at somewhat of a disadvantage. Is this the same Sansa Stark that, before the court, attested to her own treason? Why should I, or you for that matter, believe a word from her lips?"

"That was a cover to name the Targaryen's letter a lie, and you well know this," Cersei said, acting a bit too full of herself for Tyrion's liking.

"Ah, yes, of course, but what you fail to realize is that when you named her a traitor any true information she might've given gets lost in there with all the false. Therefore, you would never be able to convict me of treason, there is no evidence that could hold up."

Cersei regarded him coldly. "Eddard Stark thought the same would protect him, beliefs and a paper shield, you know how that turned out."

"Yes, I do. He is riding to make war with our father, a Targaryen king at his side. Do you consider that fate a threat?" Tyrion chuckled at the notion. "There are three clear differences you have failed to consider. One, Lord Stark was overly concerned with his honor, I do not share the same handicap. Two, I've removed Janos Slynt and the men like him from among the gold cloak's ranks. They are no longer able to be bought, sister. And three." He leaned forward to emphasize his point. "I have more men than he did."

"You dare threaten _me_," she shouted, standing from her seat.

Tyrion sighed, though on the inside he grinned. "No, Cersei, threats will get me nowhere with you, even I know that. You are much too courageous to be swayed by such. I only to seek to remind you that I am not Eddard Stark, and will not be cowed by _your _threats." He sighed for true, the joy leaving him. "The divide between us only helps our enemies. If only we could find a way to work together and set this city to rights . . ."

"I don't see any possibility of that, Tyrion."

"Nor I," he allowed. "I was just hoping aloud."

Something shifted in her eyes, as if for a moment she felt something other than complete hate and disgust for him, but just as quick as it appeared, it was gone. She took her seat. "How goes your work to free Jaime?" There was no anger remaining in her voice. Whether Tyrion's words had gotten to her, or if it was because of the mention of Jaime, he couldn't be certain.

Tyrion laughed. "Your words don't contain the bite they did just moments ago. Have I been pardoned of my treason?"

Cersei frowned. "Now is not the time for jests, brother. You remain useful because you make claims of being the only one able to see Jaime freed. So answer the question before you lose your usefulness, and I lose my patience."

Tyrion took a long drink of wine before speaking, drawing out the torment Cersei was no doubt feeling. "I remain hard at work to free our dear brother. Arya Stark would have made things easier, but it can still be done. There have been difficulties of late though. First an attempt was made on my life, and even now, having fully recovered, I must defend myself from accusations of treason. I will see him freed, Cersei, you have my word. These things require time if they are to be done right, and my work has been impeded of late, only serving to further delay Jaime's return."

"What do you need to see it done?"

"Time, Cersei, give me that and I will bring our Jaime home, where he belongs."

Cersei peered at him, searching for the truth of his words, then nodded. "You have a moon to free our brother, or I will consider my faith in you misplaced."

Tyrion smiled. "Thank you, I will not fail him."

Cersei left his solar without another word, scowling at his clansmen as she went.

_Goodbye, sweet sister, I have beaten you again, and yet you walk away believing yourself a victor. A moon was rather generous_, he mused. _I won't need but half that. _Tyrion sat back and drained his goblet, feeling better after his meeting with Cersei. He was getting good at being Hand. _Perhaps Father will let me keep the office once the war is won. _He laughed loudly at the thought. _No, it doesn't matter how well I do as Hand, for I will always be a dwarf in Father's eyes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all have a great Sunday! Next chapter will be Robb III :)


	16. Robb III

"There it is, my lord, Winterfell," Howland Reed said, pulling his horse to a stop alongside Robb's. The crannogman had joined their party at Moat Cailin, along with his two children. Meera, the eldest sibling, was very similar to Arya in that they were both into the pursuits typically reserved for men. Robb took no issue in that, he loved his little sister dearly, and would never attempt to dissuade her from such things. _Hopefully the two of them can become friends._

Then there was his son, Jojen. Robb didn't know what to make of the boy. He spoke of strange things that Robb couldn't understand, and once had even mentioned that he knew the day he was to die. When he questioned the boy, Jojen fell silent and Howland cut in, drawing his attention away.

The crannogman himself, Lord Howland Reed, was an amiable man, sharing jests and telling stories of his and Lord Stark's time in the south. But there was something else there as well, Robb knew. The man had known of Jon's letter, even though Greywater Watch was incapable of receiving ravens, as it was always moving. Howland had deflected the question, instead asking of what letter he spoke and if he could see it. The lord would not give a reply as to how he had found out Jon had become a king, no matter how Robb posed the question.

"How does it feel, being home once more?" Howland asked.

"Odd," Robb admitted. "When I rode south, I didn't plan to return until I had saved Father, and that might've taken years. Now, he has saved himself. Within those walls lays the man I swore to save, and the brother that was destined for the Night's Watch last I saw of him."

"Jon Targaryen is your cousin."

Robb chuckled. "That is far more truth than I care to bear at present, my lord. It has taken no small amount of effort to keep from turning my horse back and riding off."

The crannogman appeared confused. "Do you not wish to see your father and brothers?"

Robb turned his horse away and gazed towards Winterfell. "No, I . . . well." He paused, taking a breath to calm his nerves. "I do, it's just that I don't know what to expect. I thought my father to be the most honorable man in all the Seven Kingdoms, but now . . . he_ lied_, to everyone. I don't know what to think of Jon. Did he know this entire time? Is the Jon I knew the same as the one awaiting me in Winterfell? There's too many questions, my lord, and being so close has made me realize that I fear the answers."

"Your father was in a tough situation, you should not fault him. He had to choose between his sister and his chosen brother. He chose poorly, but he is trying to make up for that mistake. Give him that chance, and I know you won't be sorry. As for the king, I've only heard of him, but I knew his mother Lyanna well. If any bit of her passed to him, then you have nothing to fear."

The crannogman's words helped to soothe his worries. "Thank you, my lord, I believe I'm ready to return home."

Howland smiled. "That is good, because the rest have finally caught up."

Robb wheeled his horse around to face the approaching column of riders. The Mormonts brought up the front, with Ser Wendel Manderly and Ser Brynden Tully just behind them.

"I had not expected to see you again until Winterfell," Dacey called, an easy smile on her face.

"I was just enjoying the morning air, my lady. The northern air is much cleaner than that of the south, and you lot didn't seem like to rouse until midday." Robb nudged his horse to ride alongside the Mormonts. Howland rejoined his children near the middle of the column.

"It's barely two hours past dawn," Dacey shot back, "and most of that time was spent catching up to the runaway Stark heir."

Robb ignored her, instead turning to Maege Mormont. "How are you doing, my lady?"

She smiled wearily. "Tired, but I'll be alright once I've got a meal in me."

"I concur with the lady's words," Ser Wendel said. "A meal and a good warm bath'll set me right."

"There will be plenty of both, I'm sure. My father would never allow his bannermen to feel dirty and underfed while beneath his roof."

"Aye, your father has always been a generous host," Maege agreed.

The people of winter's town watched the riders pass, most with surprised expressions upon their faces. They didn't expect Robb to return so soon, and hadn't a clue what to make of the riders. He thought about trying to speak with some of the villagers, but quickly decided against it. Winterfell was too close, and his father and cousin awaited him.

The portcullis was up and the drawbridge down, allowing them to ride straight through both walls and into the heart of Winterfell. _Home. _He passed beneath the bridge connecting the armory and the Great Keep, emerging into the main courtyard. The people of Winterfell had gathered to offer their greetings, but in that moment only a few people mattered to him. He found his father's eyes first, noticing that the normally solemn Lord of Winterfell was smiling. The sight of his father's smile drove all thoughts from his head, a large smile breaking out across his own face. For too long he had feared they would never see one another again, but here they were.

Robb climbed down from his saddle and passed the reins to one of the waiting stableboys, then went to his father, wrapping him in a tight embrace. "Father," he whispered, his voice breaking as all the pain and sadness of the last several moons left him. He struggled to find the words to express his feelings. "I tried to save you," he finally said.

Ned stepped back and laid a hand on Robb's shoulder, smiling warmly. "That you did," his father said. "You fought with the strength and wisdom of men thrice your age, and I could not be more proud of you."

"Robb!" Arya shouted, moving past her father to leap into his arms.

He wrapped his arms around her, laughing. "I missed you too, Arya. How was the south?"

"Stupid and dangerous," she replied, grinning. "I'm glad to be home."

"As am I."

"You fought in battles, right?" Arya asked. At his nod, she said, "You have to tell me all about them. I want to know what it's like to ride against your enemy, and to swing your sword at an enemy, knowing that there is a hundred more behind him."

"It's tiring, mostly," Robb admitted. He noticed her ready to demand more, so he quickly added, "I promise to tell you more of my battles, but not now."

"Okay," said Arya, pouting. "One thing . . . treat Jon like family, not as your ruler. He still feels a bit odd, being king and having subjects and all that. So just act like you normally would."

"I have to know something, Arya. Did Jon know he was a Targaryen? I mean before all this."

"_What_? Don't be stupid . . . Father _went_ to Castle Black to tell him the truth. Why else would he have gone? Jon would've already taken his vows by the time he arrived though, if it hadn't been for Ser Arthur."

"Ser Arthur? Who is that?" Robb questioned.

Arya smiled mischievously. "You'll find out soon enough . . ." She walked away, returning to the spot next to their father.

Robb greeted his two younger brothers, both demanding to know of his battles, just as Arya had. He laughed at each request and promised he would tell them everything later. It was good to see his siblings again, even though they were determined to pry every tale of battle from him right then. The other lords began to dismount and greet Ned, each expressing how glad they were to see him safe.

Robb searched until he spotted his cousin, standing near the end of the line. Jon wore a suit of night-black plate armor, likely the one that Maester Luwin's raven had mentioned. In place of a helm, a crown of red gold sat atop Jon's head. _Did Father give him that as well? _

"Stark," Jon said as Robb drew near.

Remembering Arya's words, Robb smiled and said, "Snow." Jon's face twisted with tension, then it fell away and he smiled. "Or is it Targaryen now . . . I must ask for your forgiveness, war has made me quite forgetful," he jested.

"You have always been forgetful, Robb, as you seem to have forgotten." They both shared a laughed, then embraced as brothers, still chuckling.

"It is good to see you again, Jon. If I had known making you a king would have kept you from the Wall, I would've crowned you myself."

"You seem to have done well enough on your own. Drawing the Kingslayer into your trap at the Whispering Wood was brilliant."

"A good battle to be certain, but we got lucky, and there are many more to come."

Jon shook his head, his gaze distant as he spoke. "Aye . . . I wish there was another way, to avoid this war, but the Lannisters can't be allowed to roam the kingdoms, raping and terrorizing as they please."

"True words oft come from true men, Your Grace," Ser Wendel said, walking up and giving Jon's hand a firm shake. "Ser Wendel Manderly, second son to Lord Wyman Manderly, here to represent my House on behalf of my lord father. He wished to meet you for himself, and he has made plans to travel to Winterfell, but he isn't like to get here for several weeks."

"It is an honor to meet you, Ser Wendel. I have heard tales that you fought bravely with my cousin in the south, at both the Whispering Wood and the camps."

The knight's mustache twisted upwards with his smile. "The honor is mine, Your Grace. It is not every day that a man gets to meet a Targaryen, much less one with the blood of the First Men flowing through his veins."

"Thank you, ser, I take great pride in both of my parents, and their blood."

"I knew Lyanna Stark in passing, and she was certainly a woman any son should be proud of. As for Rhaegar Targaryen . . . perhaps it is time for the north to re-evaluate what we thought of the man, to find the truth, like Lady Lyanna would have wanted."

"Aye, ser, I agree, because I did much the same when I learned the truth. The stories I heard of my father growing up horrify me still. Now, knowing the truth, I hope to right the stories, so that the realm knows them for the lies they are."

"And we will," one of the men standing behind Jon said.

There were two of them, clad in white plate with a sword sheathed at their waists. Both wore a helm that covered the better part of their faces, making it impossible to tell who they were. Robb's curiosity reached its boiling point. "Who are your two companions, Jon?"

"They are the first of my Kingsguard. Robb Stark, meet Ser Barristan Selmy, my Lord Commander, and Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning."

The knights removed their helms and stepped forward, shaking hands with both Robb and Wendel.

"It is an honor to meet you, sers, but isn't the Sword of the Morning dead? Father got the better of him at the Tower of Joy, according to the stories."

Ser Arthur grinned. "Your father bested me as easily as he fathered a bastard, which is to say, he didn't. Lord Stark is a fine swordsman, make no mistake, and he fought well. Though I did come close to death that day, it was at the hands of a crannogman named Howland Reed, not your father. I would be dead, if it hadn't been for a scream that came from within the tower . . . Lady Lyanna's scream. She saved my life, and it allowed me to watch over her son from winter's town."

"Well I'll be," Ser Wendel said, astonished. "Pardon me, Your Grace, my lord, sers, I must make use of Winterfell's rookery. My father will want to hear of this at once."

"Of course, ser. There is to be a gathering in the Great Hall this afternoon, to speak of all that has occurred of late. We will speak more there, I'm sure."

Wendel nodded and went to find the rookery, but there was no time for further conversation because as he left, the Freys approached. Robb did not fail to miss the tension in Jon's jaw when he saw them. _Why does he hate the Freys_? Robb wondered. There was plenty of reasons why he disliked them, but Jon had never met a Frey, so far as he knew.

"It is an honor to meet you, Your Grace," Ser Stevron said in way of greeting.

"The honor is mine, Ser . . ." Robb noticed that all of the easy courtesy Jon had when speaking to Ser Wendel was gone. His hand twitched at his hip, as if he were trying to draw a sword that was not there.

"Stevron Frey, Your Grace, and this is my brother Perwyn."

Jon stepped forward and shook their hands, although he looked warily at each of them. "Well met, sers. I was gladdened to hear of your father's support of my claim," he said, taking a step back.

"My lord father wishes he could have come himself, but he is in poor health, and very old besides. He has sent me and Perwyn to speak on behalf of our House, and to present you with a gift, in the hopes that he can help you in the wars to come."

"He?" Jon questioned, peering at them suspiciously.

"Elmar," Stevron called. The young boy appeared, looking nervously at Jon. "A squire, Your Grace. He has had all the proper training required, I assure you. Elmar knows his letters and numbers, and can scour a piece of mail good as any."

Robb expected Jon to refuse, and maybe he had wanted to, but he didn't. "I'm sure he will do well as my squire, thank you, Ser Stevron. Good to meet you, Elmar. There is something you should know though . . . I have a direwolf, same as my cousin's, only bigger."

"A d-direwolf," the boy stuttered.

"Yes, but he only bites those that try to harm me. You wouldn't do such a thing, would you?"

"I would n-never, my lord . . . I m-mean, Your Grace."

Jon took pity on the Frey boy, chuckling good-naturedly. "You have nothing to fear, Young Elmar. Ghost is a great companion, and I'm sure the two of you will get along just fine. Now, please don't deny yourself the comforts of Winterfell on my account. We shall speak more at the gathering this afternoon."

"I look forward to it, Your Grace," Ser Stevron said, taking Elmar by the shoulder and leading him away.

"What were those looks for, Jon? It almost seemed as if you were going to answer their greeting with steel, not words."

Jon frowned, averting his eyes. "I let my emotions get the better of me for a moment, Robb. It won't happen again."

Robb smiled, laying a hand on Jon's shoulder. "I know it won't, cousin, for I know you. I understand why you'd want to answer a Frey's greeting with steel. I felt much the same when I met Lord Walder for the first time. It is no difficult thing to hate a Frey, but Stevron and Perwyn are different from their father. They speak his words because they are loyal to their House, but both are good men at heart. Stevron lead his men valiantly in both battles, and Perwyn distinguished himself as an honorable fighter."

"It is good to hear the sons did not follow in their father's footsteps. Some of them, at least. I will keep that in mind the next time I speak with them."

Robb nodded. "So, tell me about this crown. Did Father have it made for you?"

Jon took the crown off and passed it to Robb. "This is the crown of Maekar Targaryen. My father had planned to use it for his own crown when he took the throne . . . but that was before the Trident. The crown was left at the tower of joy with my mother. Lord Stark collected it along with a few other things that may have been used to prove that Rhaegar married Lyanna, and hid them here at Winterfell. It's sort of heavy, but it doesn't hinder me while training."

Robb looked at the crown in awe. "The Anvil's? Truly?"

"Aye, it is." Noticing something past Robb, Jon said, "Ah, Lord Stark, have you seen to the other lords?"

"They are resting before the gathering this afternoon. Lady Maege wished for me to give you her regards, and to apologize that she wasn't able to greet you now."

"It was a hard journey," Robb added, giving Jon back the crown. "I wanted to get here as soon as I could, so some of the lords had to press themselves to keep pace."

"I understand being weary," said Jon. "I look forward to meeting with the Mormonts." A troubled look passed over his face. "What of the other lords?"

Ned smiled encouragingly. "They did not outright curse you. I'll take that for a sign that they are willing to listen. All expressed how happy they were to see me safe, we'll see if that remains the same this afternoon."

"Father, can we speak further in your solar? The courtyard has too many ears, and the people of Winterfell do not need to hear what I've to say." Speaking of the lords and their reaction would be best done in private, away from the prying ears of the smallfolk, and that was not the only thing he needed to speak with his father about.

"Of course," his father said. "If you'd like to bathe first, we can meet in my solar afterwards."

"Thank you, but bathing will have to keep. There are things we need to speak of before the gathering, and they would be better said now, rather than later."

His father nodded and led the five of them to his solar. Jon ordered his Kingsguard to stand watch at the doorway, and to make sure their conversation wasn't overheard. Eddard took his seat behind the desk, Robb sitting across from him. Jon removed his crown, placing it on the desk before going to sit in the window seat.

"The lords brood over what they think they know, Father. They were ready to crown me for their king when a letter came from King's Landing, demanding your return. I refused the crown, but the idea remained in their heads. I believe what they truly want is a king that cares about their grievances, and won't denote them as tree-worshipping savages. We know that Jon would never do such a thing, but it appears that the northern lords are in need of a stern reminder."

"What did they say when they attempted to crown you?" Jon asked.

"The Greatjon doesn't want to be ruled over from some flowery seat in Highgarden or Dorne. That what right did the southron have ruling over him, when they know nothing of the Wall or of the wolfswood or the barrows of the First Men. Rickard Karstark wants revenge for the sons he lost fighting in the Whispering Wood. He wants the Kingslayer's head . . ."

"Ser Jaime loses all usefulness if we allow that sword to swing," Jon said.

"I'll speak with Lord Rickard alone, after the meeting. He is still grieving for Eddard and Torrhen, but surely he'll understand the need for good war strategy," Ned commented.

"Do you truly think we can convince them to fight beneath the Targaryen banner once more?" Jon asked, looking disheartened.

"I do," Robb answered immediately.

"We will convince them, Jon, have no fear. I have known most of these men my entire life. They are willful and stubborn, but only enough so that they don't appear soft. As long as we don't falter in the face of their words, we will not fail."

Jon appeared unconvinced. "We'll see . . ." He turned and gazed out the window.

"We will," Robb said. The only topic that remained to discuss was the one he had been dreading the worst . . . Catelyn. "Father, did you read what I wrote about Mother in my letter?"

"Yes, though you didn't say much of what happened, and that you wanted to speak more upon your arrival."

"Mother hasn't been acting like herself since the lords tried to crown me. She tried to go behind my back and have a crown built, despite me declining it. I stopped her, and set the smithy to rights about my need for a crown, but it doesn't stop there."

"Was this before Jon's letter arrived?"

"Yes, and then when his letter did arrive, I asked her to go to Riverrun's Great Hall and wait with the lords while I read the one from you. Instead she read the letter to the lords and disappeared, allowing them to fight each other over the contents. I arrived to find the lords about to come to blows and Grey Wind put a stop to it, but the damage was done. When I went to find her afterwards, she was unapologetic for what she had done. She refused to return with us to Winterfell, and when I tried to reach her, she went so far as to say . . ."

"_What_?" Ned demanded, grasping the edge of his desk so hard that his knuckles turned white with the effort. "What did she say?"

Robb bit his lip, something he hadn't done since he was a boy. "She said, 'I am owed apologies, the _dragon _will get none from me'. Then later I mentioned the pack, and she said, 'Jon was never part of the pack'."

Ned looked as if he were going to retch. "I can't believe she would say those things. Jon, I'm . . . I'm so sorry."

Jon gave a dry, bitter chuckle. "With all the things that have me spending long sleepless nights worrying, Lady Catelyn's opinion of me doesn't truly matter. I have a war to fight. That is my focus, nothing else."

Robb nodded solemnly. "I worry what she may say to Jon in front of the riverlords. One wrong word from her lips in front of a lord and we may lose the rest of the riverlands."

"At least we'll still have the Freys," Jon commented. "They don't care for allegiance to anyone but themselves. So long as I remain their best chance at advancing their station, they'll remain loyal."

"I'll send a raven to her," Ned said. "We can't allow a divide such as this to remain. Now, if that's everything, then please allow yourself to relax. Find a meal and enjoy a warm bath, the gathering is not for a few hours yet."

"Okay, Father, I shall see you this afternoon. Jon." He nodded at each of them and started towards the door.

"Jon, if you'd stay awhile, there is a few things we need to discuss before the gathering."

"Of course, Lord Stark."

The knights stepped aside as Robb left his father's solar, then moved back in front of the door after he was past. He was still in disbelief of the two men that stood before him. "So tell me, Ser Arthur? Should I expect any other dead men appearing at Winterfell?"

The knight's expression was grim. "I hope not," he answered tightly.

Robb continued down the hall, feeling confused. _It is a grim time for us all_, _Arthur just wants to see his king safely on the throne, _he concluded, pushing the knight's strange behavior from his mind.

Robb bathed and took a short nap, then ate a light meal and met Jon and his father outside the Great Hall. Jon no longer wore armor, but the crown remained atop his head, and a sword now hung from his back. A bastard sword, with a grip of black leather and a snarling wolf's head for a pommel. "Was that sword a gift from Rhaegar as well?"

Jon turned to him and smiled. "No, though it was a gift. Lord Commander Jeor Mormont gave me this for saving his life at Castle Black. It is named Longclaw, the Mormont ancestral sword."

Robb's mouth fell agape. "He truly gave you Longclaw?"

Jon nodded and drew the sword, holding it up for Robb's inspection. "Beautiful, isn't it? I couldn't have asked for a better sword to wield."

"Aye, it is," he said, staring at the ripples upon the dark steel. Robb shook himself. "Why bring it to the gathering though? Do you believe there may be a need for it?"

"No, Lord Stark feels that its presence may sway a few lords, as Jeor was well liked by the North. Or, if naught else, hopefully Lady Maege will feel assured of my worth by her brother's decision to entrust me with the sword."

"I don't believe that Lady Maege will need such assurances, but it certainly won't hurt their opinion of you."

Maester Luwin walked out from within the Great Hall and approached Ned. They exchanged a few words, then the maester left, heading off towards the courtyard. "The lords have been assembled," his father said. "Are you both ready?"

Jon sheathed Longclaw and stepped up to the door. "As ready as I'll ever be, Lord Stark."

Robb nodded, feeling nerves such as the ones before a battle. He hoped it wouldn't come to that, for if it did, then their war was lost before it had even truly began.

"Good. Do you remember what we spoke of, Jon?"

Jon nodded, pushed open the door, and entered the Great Hall, followed by his two Kingsguard. The Lord of Winterfell came next, a quiet dignity to him. Then finally, Robb himself. The other Stark children had been forbidden from attending the gathering. There was too much at stake to allow the errant words of a child to turn the lords from Jon for good.

The door opened out behind the high table, giving Robb a good view of the lords' faces. Lord Rickard and the Greatjon stood at the front, both seemingly ready to speak, though they held their tongue. Lady Maege and Ser Wendel watched the king enter with long, searching looks. Dacey stood off to the side, smiling encouragingly at Robb. Several casks of ale lay untouched on the tables. Robb wasn't sure if the lords and ladies being sober was a good thing . . .

Jon took off his sword and hung it from a hook on the wall, then went and sat in the high seat of the Starks. Robb followed his father around the high table to stand before the northern lords. Some of the lords were not in attendance, such as Roose Bolton and Donella Hornwood, one because he remained in command of the northern foot, the other because she was mourning the loss of her husband and son at Hornwood.

"My lords," Ned began. "It is good to see you all once more. Not long ago, there was a time when I was certain that my life was forfeit to the whims of a boy king. I did much reflecting upon my decisions during that time. Most of it was in regards to my sister Lyanna and her son . . . my nephew, Jon Targaryen. But it was also about the man I once called brother, Robert Baratheon. Robert was a good man, but just as unfit to rule as Aerys had been, only for a different reason. I see that now."

Rickard Karstark took a step forward, looking down at Ned. "We marched our armies south to rescue you, and here you stand. Near two decades past, we marched to put an end to the dragons and save Lady Lyanna, and so we did. We sat your _brother_ upon that ugly throne and went home. So tell me why my men should fight to place the mad king's grandson on that same throne. Because you regret _your_ choice?"

"I know you still grieve for your sons, and that is a pain we share. Eddard and Torrhen were fine men, and undeserving of the fate they received. But you don't want to return to Karhold with naught but your grief and their bones, do you?"

Rickard shook his head, so Ned continued, "You want vengeance, and rightly so. Tell me then, Rickard, why not fight beneath the Targaryen banner once more? Jon Targaryen is not his grandfather. Spend an hour with him and you'll know the truth of those words."

"The North should rule over itself, just as it did three hundred years ago," the Greatjon interjected. He pointed a finger at Jon. "Why should he rule over me and mine? A boy _so_ green he pisses grass."

"You didn't seem to have much of a problem following a green boy when his House name was Stark," said Robb.

"You earned the North's respect upon the field of battle," the Greatjon replied.

"And yet, you don't respect mine and my father's choice to fight for Jon. My cousin will earn your respect, of that I am certain, but you have to allow him that chance."

"I have question for you, Lord Stark," said Ser Wendel. "Why did you allow Lady Lyanna's son to be raised as a bastard? Did you feel that the North would not protect him because he is a Targaryen?"

"No, I hid him because I knew you would. We had all lost so much in the Rebellion, and I wanted nothing but to return home and mourn. I knew there would be some who would be angered by the truth, and may want to rekindle the war, to sit a newborn babe upon the Iron Throne. Part of me wanted just that, but a larger part cared for Robert too much to fight him. It was not until my time in the capital that I began to realize the mistake I had made. Robert was my friend, but he was a drunken whoremonger. Lyanna tried to force me to see it, but my vision was clouded by the love I felt for the man. It sickens me to think it, but if Joffrey had been born of Robert's seed and not the Kingslayer's, I would likely still be in the capital, serving as Hand."

Ser Wendel shook his head, clearly disappointed.

Robb seized the moment of quiet to speak. "Even a man such as my father can make mistakes, yet he is here now, fighting to atone for those mistakes. If half the stories I heard of my aunt are true, then she would've been ashamed that the North would fight a war for her, but not for her son. We all agreed at Riverrun that Joffrey could not remain upon the throne, so I ask you . . . what changed? When it was I you wanted to rule, you all seemed ready to fight for years just to see the Lannisters defeated. But now that it is my cousin asking it of you, now you want to return home and have peace . . . this is not the bravery I had come to expect from my fellow northmen. There is no use in hammering your sword into a plowshare if you must forge it again on the morrow. Ser Brynden Tully said those words with all of you present to hear them, and they still ring true, especially now. There will be no peace so long as Joffrey remains on the Iron Throne."

Robb took a deep breath and studied the northern lords' faces. A good few were nodding their agreement with his words. Others remained silent, their face set in stone. Even the Greatjon had been shocked to silence. Not one of the assembled northmen were shaking their head with disagreement. _Good, _Robb thought, _they're thinking._

Ser Wendel stepped forward and unsheathed his sword, laying it on the floor in front of the high table. "Your words and the brief chance I had to speak with the king are enough to convince me, and Lord Wyman has put his trust in my judgement. House Manderly is yours, Your Grace."

Jon nodded gratefully at the knight, but remained silent. Robb wondered why he had said nothing thus far, but now was not the time to question it.

"May I see your sword, Your Grace?" Lady Maege asked, looking at the sheathed blade strangely.

At Jon's nod, she walked forward and grabbed Longclaw from off its hook, unsheathing it. She inspected it, nodding as she flipped the blade over. "Ah, it is just as I thought . . . I had wondered what Jeor would do with it, and it appears that he has found the man he feels is worthy of wielding the blade. My brother and I have never gotten along, but I would be a fool to question his judgement. If Jeor feels Jon Targaryen is worthy of Longclaw, then he is worthy of the Mormonts following him into battle." She sheathed the sword and placed it back on the hook, then laid her spiked mace alongside Ser Wendel's sword, Dacey following suit with her morningstar.

"I have a question for you, Lord Stark," said Barbrey Dustin. "The word around Winterfell is that Ser Arthur is one of these two fanciful knights your king has by him. If that's true, then what did my husband die for?"

Ned looked at her sympathetically. "We all lost something that day, Ser Arthur included. After Lyanna's pleas to protect her son, I could not bring myself to execute a man who felt the same grief as I, so I swore him to silence and allowed him to live in winter's town. Willam Dustin was a great warrior, my lady, and you should know that he cared for you fiercely. His death was a tragedy, as were the deaths of every man that day."

Lady Dustin regarded him coldly. "Your words do nothing to warm my bed as my husband once did. Luckily for you . . . I hate the Lannisters more. House Dustin is yours, Your Grace." She turned and walked briskly from the hall.

"House Ryswell is yours, Your Grace," said Lord Rodrik Ryswell, laying his sword amongst the others.

One by one, the other Houses swore their swords to Jon, until only three Houses remained undecided: Glover, Karstark, and Umber.

"Why should I fight for him to sit the throne?" the Greatjon questioned. "He hasn't said a damned word since he sat in the high seat of the Starks. Do you put on that crown and think yourself better than us little lords, _Your Grace_? Do you think the North will fight your battles while you sit on a hill, collecting the laurels?" When the king said nothing, Lord Umber bellowed, "SPEAK, DAMN YOU!"

"His Grace is only doing as I advised-" Ned began, but Jon held up a hand, silencing him.

Jon stood from the high seat and moved around the table to stand in front of the Greatjon. "Thank you, Lord Stark, but I believe I have listened for long enough." Jon turned his attention to the man before him. "Lord Umber, I remained silent because I wished to hear what you had to say. My Hand reminded me that there are genuine concerns beneath the heated words, so I remained calm, and I listened. I have heard all that was said here today, and my cousin has informed me of what was said in the south."

The Greatjon pointed his finger in the king's face. "_And_? So you listened, good on you, but why should I fight with you as my king?"

Jon sighed. "I did not ask to be born, my lord, nor did I ask to be crowned. Before I learned the truth, I was ready to join the Night's Watch. I wanted to wash the stain from Lord Stark's cloak, and serve honorably at the Wall until the end of my days. The crown was not something I chose, but something I accepted because I feel there is no better option. You would agree that so long as Joffrey sits the throne, the North will never be safe. I march to free the Seven Kingdoms from a tyrant, whether I marched with the northern lords sworn to me, or with just my Kingsguard, that is and always will remain my goal. But I march for vengeance as well. I lost almost my entire family because of the Rebellion . . . my father, my mother, my half-siblings, both of my grandfathers, my grandmother, aunts and uncles that I will never have the honor of meeting, from both sides of my family."

"In war there is death," the Greatjon retorted.

"Yes, and I am no fool. I know there is a great chance I will not survive this war. The Lannisters will accept no surrender from me, and I am not like to give them anything but the sword in kind. I will not hide like a craven on some hill, I will fight with my men, and die with my men if the Old Gods will it so. My cousin says you wish for a northern king. One that knows of the Wall, and the wolfswood, and the barrows of the First Men. Well Lord Umber, I have served at the Wall for several moons, hunted in the wolfswood, and ridden through the barrowlands on numerous occasions. I have prayed before the heart tree in every major keep in the North, and I've never ridden south of the Neck. I will rule from King's Landing, make no mistake, but I will always be a man of the North, and so will my sons after me. So long as my blood sits the Iron Throne, the North will never again be ignored, nor will its people be denoted as savages."

Lord Umber watched Jon steadily, weighing the truth of his words, then he drew his massive two-handed greatsword . . .

The Kingsguard moved beside their king and placed a hand on their swords, but Jon remained unmoved. Robb worried that the knights would not be quick enough if the Greatjon decided to strike, but then just as quickly, he chastised himself for thinking such things. The Greatjon was a proud, boastful lord, but he would not strike down an unarmed man.

The Greatjon dropped to one knee and laid the greatsword at Jon's feet. "House Umber is yours, Your Grace."

With the Greatjon's acceptance, so went the last remaining resistance of the northern lords. Rickard Karstark and Galbart Glover laid their swords at Jon's feet and swore their House's to him.

The Greatjon rose and clapped Jon on the shoulder. A strange sight when one considered some of the things he had just been saying of the king, but a welcome sight all the same. "You truly are Lyanna's boy," the Greatjon shouted, grabbing a tankard of ale and holding it up towards Jon. "The King of the North!" He tilted the tankard back, drinking deep as cheers rang out through the Great Hall.

"The King of the North!" Ned echoed, draining his own tankard.

"The King of Winter!" Robb shouted, pounding Jon on the back in excitement. The gathering had went better than they ever could have hoped, and now the king deserved to celebrate.

"The King of the Seven Kingdoms!" Ser Stevron yelled.

"AYE," the Greatjon loudly agreed. "The King of the Seven Kingdoms!"

The lords and ladies of the North hoisted their tankards towards where Jon stood in awe. "THE KING OF THE SEVEN KINGDOMS!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone has a great Sunday!! Next chapter will be Jon III. :)


	17. Jon III

"Ah, Benfred, please come in, I've been expecting you."

"You have?" Benfred Tallhart asked.

"Aye, my Hand informed me that you wished to speak," Jon said, motioning to a chair across the desk from him. "Would you like something to drink?"

The heir to Torrhen's Square took the offered seat, appearing nervous. "A drink? Yes . . . please, Your Grace, an ale, if it wouldn't be any trouble."

A smile came to Jon's face easily these days. Most of them were not true smiles, mind you, but smiles could put uneasy men at ease, and Benfred was not like to be pleased with what he had to say. "No trouble at all." He turned to his squire, who was standing against the wall. "Go and fetch two ales, Elmar." He hated ordering people around, but it was not something that could be avoided.

Elmar Frey had taken to his duties like a fish to water. Jon was pleased by his decision to take him on as a squire, even if it had been for ulterior motives. He was dutiful and respectful, if a bit slow on the uptake, but what boy did not occasionally have trouble listening to their elders. "Right away, Your Grace," Elmar said, scurrying from the room.

"So, what can I do for you?" Jon knew what he wanted, and had no plans of accepting the request, but it would not hurt to hear him out. 

"I have assembled a company of lances to accompany you to the Vale, Your Grace. We've taken to calling ourselves the Wild Hares. All good men . . . and good fighters, precisely what you'll need in the south."

_Rather presumptous, aren't we? _he thought, mildly amused. Jon respected the man's want to fight, but he would not go against his Hand and Ser Helman on this. He just needed to figure out the best way to let the man down. When Lord Stark had informed him he would not be granted leave to fight, Benfred yelled obscenities and stormed from the room. Of course, Jon had not been present then, and that was why Benfred thought he might be able to convince him. "How does your lord father feel about you riding to war?"

Benfred's finger twitched anxiously against his thigh, and he turned to stare at the wall. "My father is just afraid for my safety, as fathers are wont to be. Surely you must understand that . . ."

"Aye, my Kingsguard are much the same, but that was not an answer to my question." Jon snapped his fingers, drawing the man's attention back to him, and held his gaze steadily. "I know what your father told you, but I want to hear you say it."

Benfred glared at Jon. "He forbade me from riding south of the Neck," he muttered, his ears turning red as he tried to control his anger.

"You would have me grant you leave to disobey your father's command? I can't do that." The door opened and Elmar entered, carrying two tankards. "Ah, the ale is here. Drink, Benfred, and see your way to a clear head." He took the offered tankard from Elmar, taking a deep drink and allowing it to soothe his troubled mind. He was tired of political nonsense, but this was what his life had become; an endless amount of people wanting something, and that would only get worse if he won the throne. "That will be all, Elmar, thank you. Ser Barristan."

The knight entered and bowed his head. Meanwhile, Benfred sat quietly, drinking and watching, his ears still tinted a dark red.

"Barristan, I have a favor to ask of you. Can you see to Elmar's training for today? There is still much I must attend to." Elmar showed promise in the yard, and Jon enjoyed overseeing his training, but he would not have the time today.

"Of course, Your Grace," the knight said, smiling warmly.

Elmar's mouth fell agape. "M-me . . . trained by Barristan the Bold?" he questioned in awe.

"That's _Ser _Barristan, Elmar, remember your courtesies."

Elmar's cheeks flushed and he shuffled his feet. "I'm sorry, Your Grace . . ."

Jon chuckled. "No harm done, Elmar. Now run along and listen to everything Ser Barristan has to say, it may well save your life."

Elmar nodded enthusiastically and followed Ser Barristan from the room.

Benfred set aside the now-empty tankard, looking somewhat calmer. "I don't want you to disobey my father's command, but you're the king . . ."

"I would the say the crown lends credence to that claim, but what of it?"

"You can speak with my father, to make him see that I am ready to fight."

"There are no doubts of your readiness, of that I am certain. When I spoke with Ser Helman on this matter, he said 'My son is too young and eager for a fight, and that will get him killed.' I'm of a mind to agree with him, given how you acted towards my Hand."

Benfred jumped up from his seat and jabbed a finger towards Jon's face. "What of _you_? I'm three years your elder, and yet you have the nerve to call me too young."

"Your response further proves the truth of Ser Helman's words. You will remain in the North, as your lord father commands. If there comes a time when I must call for reserves then I shall reconsider your request. Good day, Benfred."

"My Wild Hares are the greatest company of lances you could hope to find. Anyone of my men could take your Kingsguard in a fight, I swear it. You will need us in the Vale, in case Lady Arryn tries anything."

Jon smiled coldly. "Would you care to test that claim? I'll have Ser Arthur collect a few tourney swords and we can determine the truth of your words."

A moment of hesitation appeared in Benfred's eyes, but then he gulped and regained his arrogant posture. "Tourney swords?" he asked, indignant. "The Wild Hares train only with live steel."

Jon's smile never wavered. "Aye, but if Arthur fights with live steel, then you bleed. It wouldn't serve to have my Kingsguard cutting up the heirs of the Houses sworn to me. The men who will accompany me to the Vale have already been chosen, and you are not among them. I have no use for lances at the Eyrie."

"My men fight as well on foot as they do-" A knock at the door interrupted Benfred, but there was no time to grant entrance. The door burst open as Arya shoved past Ser Arthur and into the room. Tears trickled down her cheeks and fell to the floor, and her hair was windblown, as if she had ran the whole way here. She opened her mouth to speak, but then noticed Benfred and shut it once more. Benfred turned away from the scene and continued as if she weren't there. "-on their horses. We can guard your back in the south, no matter where you go."

Arya's entrance and appearance sapped the patience from Jon. "Enough," he snapped. "You will remain in the North, as Ser Helman commands, and I will hear no more of it. Now leave, I have more important matters to attend to."

Benfred's thick neck turned red and rigid with tension. He looked ready to rage at Jon, as he had with Lord Stark, but then he noticed Ser Arthur standing in the doorway and stormed out of the room, never saying a word. Arthur shook his head slowly and shut the door.

Jon went to Arya and wrapped her in a tight embrace as she broke into a fresh bout of tears. "What's wrong?" he asked.

Arya broke from his embrace and her eyes searched the room as she if were looking for someone. Seemingly satisfied, she wiped her eyes and said, "Father told me I'm to marry that stupid Frey boy, the one you took as your squire. You're the king, Jon, you have to tell him that you won't allow it. I don't want to marry some stupid boy."

Jon cursed. _I should've told her myself when we first arrived at Winterfell, before there were five Freys dining at our tables. _"I'm sorry, Arya, we . . . we should have told you sooner."

"_We_," Arya breathed softly, as if she had just discovered the word and was using it for the first time.

Jon reached to hold her hand in both of his own, but she wrenched her arm away and took a step back. "You knew, didn't you?" When Jon failed to reply, she stepped forward and slapped him across the face. "_Didn't you_?" she repeated, angry tears falling from her grey eyes. Eyes that mirrored his own, even in sadness.

"Aye, I've known since the day we arrived in Winterfell," he managed, his eyes downcast.

Arya slapped him again. "Look at me."

The king did as he was bid. Her eyes were red-rimmed from tears, and her hands were clenched at her sides as if she were struggling not to punch him. Jon almost hoped she would beat him bloody. He deserved it for thinking he was protecting Arya from the truth while he worked on a way to end the betrothal. It would likely be years before he could officially end it. Until then he was only delaying it, so why had he kept the truth from her? He failed to find an answer. The fault didn't solely lie with him, he knew, but Lord Stark's own reasoning did not excuse him from blame. "Arya, we need the alliance with the Freys, no matter how much I dislike their lord, they bring four thousand men to our cause . . ."

"So you would sell me like a brood mare to win your war. Arthur was wrong, the crown has changed you, and _not_ for the better."

Jon flinched as if he had been struck. "I would never force you to marry a Frey, I just . . . I need time, Arya."

"Time for what?"

"To win . . . once the war is won I will break the betrothal pact by any means necessary, I swear it. I've taken measures to further delay until the time is right."

Arya looked at him skeptically. "What measures?"

"I accepted Elmar as my squire . . ." He trailed off, unsure if he should be speaking this aloud, even to Arya.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

_She deserves to know_, Jon concluded, sighing. "Elmar is your intended, as you now know. When Robb passed through the Twins, he intentionally neglected mentioning your escape to Lord Walder. Elmar was supposed to squire for Roose Bolton, but Walder's ambitions changed after I was crowned. He sent Elmar with Robb to offer him up as a squire, unknowing that he was also sending him to his intended. There was no way to hide your presence from the Freys, so I accepted the offer. If I hadn't, and Stevron had informed Lord Walder of your presence, then he would have pressed for you to be fostered at the Twins, to grow up alongside Elmar. Walder would have forced you to wed as soon as you flowered, perhaps even sooner than that."

Arya tapped her foot against the floor, silently thinking over his words. "Fine," she said at last, "but you still should have told me."

"Aye, it was a mistake and I won't make it again. I wanted to protect you from this. We weren't to remain at Winterfell for long and I thought there would be no need to tell you until after I had already ended the betrothal."

"That was stupid," Arya retorted, an edge to her voice. "What if I had found out from the Freys and made a scene? You may well have lost those men because of your's and Father's foolishness."

Jon dipped his head in shame. "Is there anything I can do to make up for it?"

"Yes," Arya said with no hesitation. "You can allow me to stay at Riverrun for the duration of the war."

"Arya . . ." He ran a hand through his hair. "Why?"

"I don't want to remain at Winterfell, waiting for ravens to tell me of your victories . . . or of your death. I know you won't allow me to go with you to the Vale, but Riverrun will be closer than Winterfell, in case you need me. Plus, Nymeria is still in the riverlands, I have to find her."

Jon slowly shook his head, resigning himself to her wishes. "_If _I convince Lord Stark to allow it, then you have to promise something in return. You will remain in Riverrun, and there will be no wandering from the castle-"

"But I have to find Nymeria," Arya interjected.

"Then I sincerely hope that Nymeria finds her way to you at Riverrun."

"That's not fair . . . it's my fault she ran away." Tears welled in Arya's eyes. "The queen was going to kill her, so me and Jory had to throw rocks to chase her off. I have to find her and apologize."

Jon hardened his heart to her pleas, no matter how much it pained him. "Right now there are three groups of men pillaging the riverlands, all sworn to Tywin Lannister. Two are led by the knights who killed my half-siblings, Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch. The third is a sellsword company called the Brave Companions, or the Bloody Mummers, depending on who you're asking."

"They'd never catch me, and even if they did, I'm a Stark, they wouldn't dare do me harm."

Jon kneaded his brow in frustration. She needed to understand the severity of the danger, and the consequences of her actions. "Ser Amory may be the only one of the three that would have the wits to bring you unharmed to Tywin, if you managed to convince him that you're Arya Stark. Ser Gregor may, or he may not. That would depend on how foul a mood he's in, and how much you struggle. But you must remember that these men have no qualms with murdering children. Vargo Hoat is not well known throughout the realm, but he is working very hard to change that. He likes to rape and torture his prisoners, cutting off a foot or a hand to ensure they can't escape. If you convinced him of your worth to Lord Tywin . . . he may forego the raping. Then, if Lord Tywin decides to press for surrender with the promise of your head if I refuse, I will accept. Which is why I will not entertain you traveling to Riverrun unless you swear that you will remain there. They already have Sansa for a captive, I can't allow them to take you as well."

They sat in silence for several moments while Arya worked through what she had been told. "When the war is done, will you help me find her?"

"Ghost and I will search from dawn to dusk every day until she is found," Jon said, chuckling.

Arya smirked. "I'll hold you to your word, _Your Grace_. At swordpoint, if I must."

"I would expect nothing less. A king must keep true to his word, after all."

Arya walked into his arms, embracing him firmly. "Thank you . . ."

Before Jon could reply, Arya broke the embrace and said, "I'm going to go train with Gendry now. I want my needlework to be flawless when I get to show Mother."

"I'm sure she will be rather pleased to see how good you are, and even more so when she finds out who gave you the blade." Jon winked at her, letting her know it was just a jest and there was no melancholy hidden behind his words.

Arya gave him another quick hug, then started for the door. "Bye, Jon," she said over her shoulder as she rushed out of the room.

"She didn't stab you, so I guess it went well," Arthur said, closing the door.

"Wait," Jon called. "Come in, Arthur, I'd like to talk before Lord Stark arrives, if you don't mind."

Arthur moved into the room. "What would you like to talk about, Your Grace?"

Jon sat down at his desk, motioning for Arthur to do the same, and took a long drink from his tankard. "What have I told you to call me when we're in private, Arthur?"

"Jon," said Arthur, grinning, "but it isn't proper."

A true smile broke out across Jon's face. "Was it proper to batter and bruise me while referring to me as Jon Snow?"

Arthur shrugged, bemused. "If your head hadn't been firmly lodged up your arse, then I wouldn't have had to pry it loose."

Laughter broke free from the young king's mouth, and Arthur was quick to follow in the merriment. "True enough," Jon said once he had regained his composure. "You are normally the one guarding my door throughout the day, and I'm sure you hear quite a bit of what's said. Correct?" At Arthur's nod, he continued, "Do you feel I've been doing well . . . as king, I mean?"

"I'm not sure if that is my place to say, Jon."

"Come now, Arthur, don't be like that. One of the Kingsguard's duties is to give counsel."

Arthur removed his swordbelt and laid it against the desk, then took a seat. "You have made mistakes, just as any man is prone to do. Not informing Lady Arya of her betrothal for instance. Barristan and I counselled against keeping it hidden, yet you decided to follow Lord Stark in his decision. You are learning to rule during a time of war and great uncertainty, and that is not without its troubles. Despite all that, I do truly believe you have it in you to become a great king. Trust in your instincts and your council, Jon, they are not like to steer you wrong."

Jon's jaw worked silently as he pondered the truth of Arthur's words. _He's right, I should've listened to my Kingsguard, but when my council disagrees, how can I know which side is right?_ A knock sounded at the door, breaking him from his thoughts. "That must be Lord Stark, come to escort me to the Great Hall. Thank you for the counsel, Arthur."

Arthur smiled as he stood and strapped his swordbelt back to his waist. He opened the door to permit Lord Stark entrance and took up his place in the hall.

Surprisingly, Theon Greyjoy walked into the room with Lord Stark, looking confident, yet somewhat nervous.

"Theon . . . what can I do for you?"

It was his Hand that spoke. "He came to me while I was on my way here, wanting to speak, so I brought him along."

"Of course, Lord Stark. Have a seat."

Once seated, Theon cleared his throat. "I want to travel to the Iron Islands, to ensure that my lord father declares for you, Your Grace."

"We have sent ravens to Pyke," Jon replied.

"A son is a far better messenger than a raven. Allow me to take ship from Seagard, and I swear that I shall return with the Iron Fleet."

"Theon," Lord Stark said, "I trust you, but we can't afford to trust your father."

"I'm his son and heir, he'll listen to me," Theon insisted.

"Balon Greyjoy has already risen up twice in rebellion. Once, when he convinced his father Quellon to plunder the Shield Islands during Robert's Rebellion, and again when he crowned himself the King of the Iron Islands. You were only ten, but surely you remember why you came to Winterfell. There are four kings in Westeros at present, and the realm is ripe for plundering. You are likely the only thing stopping him from taking up the Driftwood Crown once more."

Theon nodded gravely.

Lord Stark laid a hand on Theon's shoulder. "It was my duty to maintain a distance from you as my . . . for lack of a better word, hostage." Theon's eyes fell to the floor, but Lord Stark smiled. "It is one of the few failures that I am not ashamed of. I couldn't help the surge of pride I felt watching your talent with the longbow grow into a true gift. Know that while I can never give you my name, I will always see you as a son. I felt that same surge of pride when I heard the reports of how well you did serving as a scout for Brynden Tully."

Jon watched Theon's eyes glow with pride, though he kept them averted. "There was actually something I had planned to ask of you at the war council, Theon."

"What?"

"As I'm sure you know, Ser Brynden is returning to Riverrun with Robb. I have need of an outrider to accompany myself and Lord Stark to the Vale. I had hoped to appoint you as that outrider, given how well you conducted yourself under Ser Brynden."

"I've never been to the Vale before," Theon said, smiling cockily. "I'll accept the position, Jon, if you swear I won't need to go celibate in your service like those two knights."

Jon bit back a laugh and stood. "I don't think that will be an issue." He gave Theon's hand a firm shake. "One more thing, Lord Stark. Arya wishes to travel to Riverrun with Robb, to allow her to receive word of the war sooner, and to see her lady mother again. She asked for it as recompense for our hiding of the betrothal for as long as we did. I made her swear she would not wander beyond the castle's walls, and impressed upon her the dangers of the riverlands at present."

Lord Stark seemed ready to refuse him outright, but then he sighed. "I will speak to her after the war council. If she is to be at Riverrun, then she will need to swear the same to me, before the heart tree. I could not bear to lose my other daughter to the fate of being a Lannister captive."

Jon nodded, understanding his concern. "We'll get Sansa back, my lord."

"Will we?" Lord Stark asked, looking defeated.

"We will," Jon answered resolutely, though he couldn't be certain it was the truth. There had not been much word on the elder Stark girl, and what had been received was more troubling than it was comforting. The last they had heard was that Sansa had attested to the Stark's treason and been granted leniency, but what did that mean? The punishment for treason was death, so Joffrey could have beaten her within an inch of her life and still named it lenient.

Lord Stark composed himself and stood. "We had best get headed to the war council."

They walked in silence to the Great Hall, which was fine with Jon. He needed to gather his courage to face the northern lords and ladies. The last time he had, it had turned out better than he ever could have dreamed. It gave him some small amount of hope for the war council's outcome, but he knew that his plan was different from what Robb had been planning previously, and surely not all would agree with it.

The doors swung open to reveal the lords and ladies peering at a map of Westeros, laid out across a table. Robb looked up and smiled, then he arched his brow questioningly when he noticed Theon with them. Jon nodded at him and went to stand at the head of the table. Lord Stark took up position to his right, as was customary for the Hand of the King, or so Jon figured.

"You're late," Robb observed.

"My meetings ran longer than intended, cousin, it couldn't be helped. Apologies." He looked down the table at Ser Helman Tallhart. "Your son was not pleased with what I had to say, but he now knows that he will not be permitted to ride south."

The Master of Torrhen's Square nodded. "Thank you, Your Grace. I hope he didn't act too much like a fool. He is still a young boy in many ways."

"To the contrary, Benfred conducted himself quite well . . . if one considers the way he acted when my Hand refused him."

Helman grimaced, ashamed, but remain quiet.

"My lords and ladies," Jon addressed the group. "Thank you for gathering once more. I would like to hear your thoughts on how to precede in the war."

Lord Rickard Karstark pointed to the Golden Tooth. "While you work to secure allies in the Vale, we should strike at Lord Tywin's home, the westerlands. Let him know how it feels to have his lands pillaged, as he has been doing to the river lords."

The lords growled their assent.

Jon gestured at the carved wooden lion figure that stood between Casterly Rock and the Golden Tooth. "What of Ser Stafford's host? I've heard it numbers over ten thousand men."

"It is a host of smallfolk and greenboys. We'll cut through it like a knife through cheese," the Greatjon argued.

"Is this true, Ser Brynden?" Lord Stark asked.

"Near four thousand are the remnants of the Kingslayer's scattered host, the rest are as Lord Umber said, untrained and unproven on the field."

"Fighting men then," said Jon, nodding to himself. "It is too great a risk to take them on the open field, and that is without thinking on the trouble of getting past the Golden Tooth."

The Greatjon slammed his fist down onto the table, shaking the figures. "Do you doubt the strength of the North, _boy_? Each northman is worth ten of these southron swineherds."

Jon did not falter under Lord Umber's scrutiny. "I have no doubts that you could defeat Ser Stafford's host, but how many lives would be forfeit for one victory. Two thousand? Three thousand? Renly Baratheon marches at the head of a host over five times that of our own, and we will have to fight them in time."

"What would you have us do then? Sit at Riverrun with our thumbs up our arse until you arrive with the Vale?" Lord Rickard questioned.

"No, Riverrun could not sustain a host for that long." Jon trailed a finger along where the Tumblestone flowed out from the westerlands. "When you depart Riverrun, follow the southern bank of the Tumblestone, it should lead you through most of the western hills. Once in the westerlands you'll be taking castles unaware. Start with Ashemark; take the castle, sack the granary and treasury, then ride for the Crag. Make sure you are seen in every village you pass, and burn what crops you can't take. Ser Stafford will give chase with his half-trained army, but very few of them will be ahorse, so you should be able to outpace them with ease. Take the Crag, then the Banefort. From there split your host; The Greatjon will take half and wait in the western hills, while Robb takes the other half and sets up a shield wall with the coast at his back. The hammer shall fall against the anvil, and Ser Stafford's host will be crushed between the two."

"And if Ser Stafford should find the army in the western hills?" asked Ser Wendel. "He'll crush the divided host, and push the shield wall into the sea. Would it not be better to take them unaware while they train, with our whole force behind us."

"The king is right," Robb said. "Fighting Ser Stafford's host on the open field is a gamble we can't chance. Before, when we spoke of these things, the intent was never to fight Lord Renly, but times have changed. When we heralded Jon as the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms, we made the other three kings our sworn enemies. We must be of a more cautious mind if we hope to win."

Jon nodded to his cousin and turned back to the map. "Your concerns are my own, ser, but I see no better way to engage Stafford's host."

"Why must we fight Ser Stafford, Your Grace? If we were to follow the coast further north, we could slip back into the riverlands, unbeknownst to the Lannisters," Lady Maege suggested.

"It is not without merit, but to what end, my lady?" Lord Stark asked. "If you made to join us in attacking Harrenhal, then Ser Stafford would surely follow. It would be better to turn south at the Crag, and follow the coast to Sarsfield, then almost the whole of the westerlands lay before you, with Stafford marching his men ragged in pursuit. The Golden Tooth could be taken from the rear, opening passage to the westerlands. Then from there push further south-" He pointed to each place as he spoke. "-to Horn Vale, Deep Den, Silverhall . . . all left lightly garrisoned after Lord Tywin formed his great hosts. That should allow myself and Jon plenty of time to take Harrenhal with no worry of Ser Stafford reinforcing him."

The Greatjon laughed, a great booming sound that echoed off the rafters. "Taking _their_ castles and feasting on _their_ crops while they're powerless to stop us." A fresh wave of laughter rolled over him. "My men will love the sound of that. We haven't had the pleasure of feasting on a proper southron crop yet."

"Aye," said Lord Rickard, "my men would be pleased with that as well."

Jon scratched his chin, thinking things over. He had not thought of the possibility that Ser Stafford could find the divided host hidden in the hills. _Lady Maege is right . . . there is no reason why they must attack, other than that I had hoped for one less host to contend with. _He studied the map as the lords spoke further. After Harrenhal had been taken, he could march the Vale's horse through the Golden Tooth and take Stafford unaware as he chased Robb.

"Your Grace," Ser Stevron called, taking his attention from the map. "Would it not be better to remain here, at Winterfell, while Joffrey fights his uncles? My lord father has always advocated for caution, as you say we will need to win this war. If we were to-"

"_Craven_!" the Greatjon roared.

"Being cautious is not the same as being craven," Ser Stevron replied.

"Enough of this," Lord Stark stated in a tone that brooked no argument. "Let the king speak."

"I have thought on the possibility of remaining here," Jon admitted, "but it could never work. It doesn't matter if it is craven or caution, the realm would always see it as the former. Any ally that might've declared for me would take up with one of the other kings and the war would be lost. I believe what Lord Stark suggested would be the best course of action. Sacking the westerlands may even force Lord Tywin to bestir himself, making it easier to beat his host."

"Are we in agreement, my lords?" his Hand asked, looking at each face.

_I hope so_, Jon thought. The plan would keep Robb's men far from idle, and would provide the distraction he needed while he gathered the men of the Vale. The lords and ladies nodded at Lord Stark, accepting the plan as their own. "We would all do well to get some sleep, my lords and ladies," he said. "We ride at midday on the morrow." Jon watched them leave, wondering which of them would not be present at their next meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With that, plans are set and Jon is leaving Winterfell at last. Hope you enjoyed! :) Next chapter will be Tyrion III.


	18. Tyrion III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Had to leave behind the men I was s'posed to get from the black cells to escape the boy's dog"- Yoren, Arya I

Tyrion found Varys in his chambers, speaking to a young boy. The boy looked to be around ten, with matted black hair and sullen, wary eyes. "I'm sorry if I interrupted, it was not my intent," Tyrion lied.

The eunuch giggled. "I assure you it is a most welcome interruption. I believe we're done here. Rylan, you know what you must do, correct?" The boy nodded dutifully. "Good, now run along, young one, our Hand surely does not like being kept waiting."

"Almost as much as I enjoy meeting boys less than half my age that are almost double my height," Tyrion jested, sighing. "Alas it is a pain I am oft afflicted with, Varys."

The boy walked briskly past Tyrion, never once cracking a smile at his jest. One small whiff gave him all the knowledge he needed.  _What is a boy from Flea Bottom doing here? _

"What can I help with on this fair day, my lord?" Varys asked pleasantly, reeking of lemon and lilac.

Tyrion ignored his question. "Who was that boy . . . Rylan, was it?"

Varys tittered. "No one to concern yourself with, my lord."

"It concerns me greatly, Varys. Lately, I find myself wanting my hand in everyone's jar of oats, including yours. Surely if it of such little consequence, you could just humor my innate curiosity, so that I may rest easy." Tyrion watched the Spider's eyes, searching for any hint of treachery, but there was nothing save for sickeningly easy charm.

"Of course, I would not want young Rylan to be the cause for your sleepless nights. Not when there is so much else to make us toss and turn with worry. I have barely slept a wink in the past moon." Tyrion waved his hand impatiently, making the eunuch giggle. "Quite right, back to the boy. He is just one of my many little birds."

"What news does he bring?"

"Apologies?" Varys asked, looking confused.

Tyrion tapped his foot, trying to refrain from slapping Varys across his pudgy face. "The boy, you say he is one of your spies, yes?" At the eunuch's nod, Tyrion continued, "It is a foolish spy that reports to his master without anything to speak of, so I repeat, what news did he bring?"

Varys took the demanding tone in stride, laughing. "Just some rumors of Jon Targaryen's whereabouts. They have been flooding in since the letter became common knowledge throughout the city. Most of it is just nonsense, nothing to concern ourselves with. One such rumor was the news that my little bird brought to me."

"And what does the realm have to say of the dragon king?"

Varys pursed his lips, yet his smile never wavered. "Oh, this and that, my lord. He's riding through the riverlands at the head of a massive wildling host he gathered while at Castle Black. He plans to remain at Winterfell while the other three kings fight, then challenge the victor to single combat for the throne. Some smallfolk in the westerlands swear upon their lives they saw a dragon larger than Casterly Rock fly overhead. There have been sightings of a man with silver hair and purple eyes in Flea Bottom, rallying the smallfolk to storm the keep. That was the news that Rylan brought to me."

Tyrion could not help the laugh that sprung from his lips. "Jon Targaryen is brown of hair with grey eyes, if I recall correctly."

"You are correct, my lord. The man has none of the classical Valyrian markings. Well, except maybe for the nose . . . and possibly the cheekbones as well. These rumors are nothing to concern our good king with. There is no wildling host, or immense dragon, and there is certainly no man with purple eyes and silver hair colluding in Flea Bottom. So far as I have heard from the North, there is no gallant dreams of challenging the victorious king to single combat."

Tyrion shuddered at the thought of what Joffrey would do if he heard the rumor of a silver-haired man. "Do make sure that the king never hears of these. He's like to raze Flea Bottom if he believes a Targaryen is hidden there. The smallfolk already think us worse than mangy dogs . . . no need to fuel their hatred any more than necessary."

Varys gave him an understanding smile. "I have found the smallfolk's love is far easier to regain than a hound's. See them to a full belly and they'll sing your praise to the seven heavens until their voices grow hoarse."

"A full belly is a hard thing to come by in the city these days, Varys, you know this."

The eunuch nodded glumly. "For the smallfolk, yes, and there are so very many of them . . . What did you need of me, my lord? Surely you did not come just for a chat, as much as it would pleasure me to think it was thus."

Tyrion spotted a flagon on the eunuch's table and went to poor himself a cup, hoping it was wine.  _I want to know when I'll be able to see Shae. _ It turned out only to be water, but it quenched his thirst and he soon found himself pouring a second cup.

"The maester's name it autumn and yet the days remain warm as ever. I've been forced to turn away from wine to cool my fevered body," Varys said, pouring himself a cup. "If you have a taste for wine, my lord, I could send for a flagon."

"There's no need to trouble yourself on my account. I have come to ask you how your work goes indentifying my would-be assassin."

"Not well, I'm afraid. He was not a servant, yet the man was able to make his way through the keep without ever being noticed. My little birds have been working tirelessly, but it is almost as if the man was a spirit."

Tyrion glared at the eunuch, wondering how his head might look on a spike. "He was no spirit, Varys. If you doubt that go and peer into my bedchamber, there is still a stain where he bled out."

"I apologize if I caused offense, my lord. The man was almost certainly from Flea Bottom, but his description was either not recognized at all, or it was recognized and the man they told my little birds of is still among the living."

_Cersei did well to cover her tracks, it appears, but how? _ Surely his sister could not have put that great an effort into finding a man, not with how little time she had. Unless the man had already been found before he reached the city, but Cersei had thought it would be their father that was coming. Tyrion took a sip from his cup and sighed. "I thank you for your help in this matter, Varys."

Varys smiled apologetically. "There is no need for thanks, my lord. I can't imagine what it must be like for you. To think that one's own sister might be trying to have them killed. I only wish that the truth would reveal itself to me."

"Is there anything I can do to hasten the search?"

"There is not much to be done, I'm afraid . . ."

Tyrion refilled his cup and took a small sip. His hope for justice was growing slimmer with each passing week.  _I'm alive_ , he reminded himself, _ and I won't allow Cersei the chance to take that from me._ "What of Symond Silver-Tongue? Surely you must have found something on him," Tyrion said, hoping for some good news to counter the bad.

"His father was a trader of fine fabrics, and captained a ship named the  _Dainty Damsel_ . He would often make port at King's Landing and Oldtown. Over a decade past, the ship got caught in a terrible storm off the Dornish coast and the captain was lost at sea."

Tyrion held up a hand. "This is all very interesting, Varys, but it has nothing to do with Symond."

"Ah, apologies, my lord, I get carried away sometimes. Symond hated merchant's work, but was somewhat gifted at singing. He sang regularly at the Broken Anvil, which is where he came to know your sweet lady, as it happens. I'd wager my life that the man is not in the queen's employ, and know that I have the right of it."

"A spy does not always start as such, nor does he need to be to inform my sister of Shae. One errant word in front of the wrong person, and he will do a spy's work for them. Is there anything that could be used to ensure his silence?"

"His mother still resides within the city, my lord. She lives along the Hook, and is a sweet woman, and rather feeble besides. Please do her no harm, I beg it of you."

Tyrion took a deep drink.  _Do you take me for my father, Varys? _ "There is no need to fear on that count. His cock will be a far better means of control than his mother, if it comes to that. Surely you can understand, having lost your own?"

"No, I wouldn't," the eunuch answered honestly. "Mayhap it is because of how young I was when I lost my manhood, but I have never found cause to miss it. I have seen men's actions oft controlled by their manhood, and the women that keep to their bed. Myself, on the other hand, have no such worries. It allows me a clear head to focus on my work."

Tyrion laughed. "You may just be right, Varys, but if the price for a clear head is my cock . . . I'll brood till the end of days on what a clear head might've been like."

Varys took a sip from his cup. "You know, I could help you to meet with your lady in secret. Our dear queen would be none the wiser."

_I'd like nothing more. _ "I'll think on it, but I still feel much the same on the topic. There are too many factors at play to chance being caught with Shae."

"She does so miss her giant of Lannister," Varys drawled, smiling. "I must ask, was it you that came up with that name?"

Tyrion did not smile. "No, I was not."

"Your lady then. It is most becoming of you, my lord, if I might say."

"How so?" Tyrion scoffed. From Varys' mouth, it sounded both a jape and an endearment, but he only saw it as a jape from anyone but Shae.

"They say even the smallest of men can cast a large shadow. I feel that your shadow is mayhap one of the largest in the city, my lord."

Tyrion was not endeared by his words, though he no longer felt angered. "Your words are a kindness I am not owed, Varys, but I thank you for them nonetheless. I'm afraid I must be going, there is something else I must attend to before retiring for the night."

"Ah yes, those men from the black cells you have been looking into. To assist in freeing your brother, yes?"

Tyrion was past the point where he was surprised by the eunuch knowing of his plans, nor did he care. If his plan saw Jaime freed, then Cersei wouldn't care how it came to be so. He nodded. "The undergaoler that replaced Rugen is rather strict about who's allowed access to his prisoners. Bronn was not enough to sway the stubborn bastard. 'If the Hand himself comes, then I'll gladly be rid of this lot,' he'd told Bronn, but after some words, he relented to only needing a document signed by me."

"You could write it here, if you prefer," Varys suggested. Tyrion looked at him skeptically, so the eunuch added, "I've parchment and ink, you need not return to your solar before retiring . . . as I said, if you'd prefer it."

Tyrion remained skeptical, but he said, "I suppose it would do no harm. Thank you, Varys, you are most accommodating."

Varys moved around the room, gathering the parchment, quill, and ink without a word. "It is an honor to serve you, my lord," Varys said once he had retaken his seat.

Tyrion drafted a short document stating that he would be taking the three prisoners of the black cells into his custody. He finished, rolled up the parchment and climbed out of the chair. "You have my thanks for your hospitality, but now I must take my leave."

"Of course, I would not keep you. Have a pleasant night, my lord."

"You as well."

Outside Varys' chambers stood the captain of Tyrion's guards and a clansmen known as Hulitt, son of Trelmar, of the Burned Men. "How did it go?" Bronn asked as they crossed the courtyard. Since being appointed Tyrion's captain, he had taken to dressing in the black breastplate of the City Watch and the crimson cloak of the Lannisters.

The courtyard was filled with lords and ladies and servants, chattering about nonsense or going about their duties. "I'd like to see how well a eunuch can swim . . . in the dry moat." Tyrion sighed. "Not truly, but Varys is an insufferable man. He was able to find out how Symond Silver-Tongue's father died several years ago, yet he seems incapable of finding the identity of my would-be assassin."

Bronn shrugged. "Could allow me to give him some . . .  _encouragement_ ."

_If only I could_ , Tyrion thought, chuckling. "No, I don't think that will be necessary, though I do need something from you." Tyrion passed the parchment to Bronn as they passed beneath the portcullis. "Take this to that gaoler tonight, but tell him not to have my prisoners delivered until the morrow." He paused, scratching his chin. "On second thought, he will deliver the prisoners himself. I would very much like to meet him."

He reached the entrance of the Tower of the Hand, but noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Lady Sansa was leaving the Godswood, a large smile in place of the haunted look that typically graced her face these past few weeks, not that he could blame the girl. When she noticed him, the smile fell away and she quickened her pace. Tyrion attempted to wave, but she was gone before he could get his hand up. He put his hand down and entered the tower to seek his bed.

The undergaoler arrived in Tyrion's solar at midday on the following day. He wore oiled black ringmail over boiled leather and dark woolen breeches. A heavy hardwood club hung from his belt, and a leather half-cape was pinned round his neck, cracked and stiff with wear. Dark brown hair fell to his shoulders, framing a pair of sunken pale eyes that seemed to shift at the slightest movement. "It is good to meet you, gaoler," Tyrion greeted.

"As it is good to meet you, my lord. My name is Alan, if it please you." He dipped his head respectfully.

"Where are my prisoners, Alan?" Tyrion asked politely. He saw no reason for a long conversation with the gaoler. Truthfully, the only reason he had ordered the gaoler to deliver them himself was to show his authority. Not only to Alan, but to his sister as well.

Alan went to the door, opened it, and barked out a command. Three men shuffled into his solar, dressed in tattered rags with iron shackles at both their wrists and ankles. Tyrion's nose wrinkled as their stench hit him. The first was an enormous bald man with soft doughy flesh that had sunken from being underfed. Tyrion idly wondered which baker he had robbed to get thrown in the black cells . . . until the man smiled and he got an eye at the rows of sharpened yellow teeth.

The next was the complete opposite of the first. Shiny long, straight hair fell past his shoulders, colored white on one side and red on the other. He was slender and handsome, with fine features and a pleasant smile. Tyrion was relieved to see that the man's teeth were not sharpened.

The final was squat, not that Tyrion could judge, bulky, with coarse black hair that covered most of his body. His arms and legs were thick and powerful. He did not smile, and there was a hole where his nose should have been.

"Names," Tyrion ordered.

"This man has the honor of being Jaqen H'gar, once of the Free City of Lorath," the handsome one answered. The bald one clacked his teeth, and the other grunted. "A man is ashamed of the company he keeps. A man has no choice of companions in the black cells."

Tyrion nodded at him. "Alan, what are their names?"

Alan glanced around the room, but was not able to find the answer on the walls. "I'm not sure, my lord, I was only informed of their crimes."

Tyrion sighed. "You there, on the right," he said to the bald man. "Tell me your name or I'll have your head on a spike within the hour."

"His name is Biter," the squat man answered gruffly. "He don't speak, he bites. I'm Rorge."

"Very well then," he said. "Alan, you said you were aware of their crimes. I'd know them now." He was growing short of patience. The only one that seemed possible of following commands was the Lorathi, but men of low morals could come in handy, if he was wrong about them.

"Uh . . ." The gaoler seemed taken aback by the request, his eyes darting around the room.

"Do hurry, Alan, and speak to me, not the wall."

Alan gulped. "Rorge and Biter broke into a house in Flea Bottom. They cut a man's arms off and left him to bleed out while they raped the wife. The Gold Cloaks found these two still there, drenched in blood. It was said that . . ."

"What was said, Alan?" Tyrion bit out.

"It is said that the big one was found feasting on the woman when the Gold Cloaks arrived."

Tyrion felt his stomach turn, yet managed not to retch. Biter clacked his teeth in delight and grinned. "The third, was he apart of this," he managed.

"No, my lord, it was said that he was caught in the Citadel's vaults, attempting to steal a book."

"A book?" he asked, incredulous. He had to push the thought of Rorge and Biter's crime from his mind, lest he wished to vomit.

"Yes," Alan affirmed. "A book."

Tyrion turned to Jaqen H'gar, though his eyes kept glancing over at Biter, who was now smiling incessantly, showing off his rotted teeth. "You attempted to steal a book? Why?"

Jaqen H'gar smiled. "A man has a thirst for knowledge."

Breaking into the Citadel's vaults was surely not an easy task, as was the task Tyrion had in mind for him. "Alan take Rorge and Biter to the King's Justice. It is your lucky day, Jaqen H'gar. I'm of a mind to grant you a pardon, if you'll serve me loyally."

Alan barked out an order, and the two prisoners slowly turned to shuffle out of the room.

"Wait," Jaqen H'gar said. "A man has need for them."

"How do you figure?"

"A lord needs something stolen, if a man is not mistaken. A man could use the assistance of these two."

Tyrion watched him steadily, then nodded at the gaoler. "My brother, Ser Jaime Lannister, is a captive at Riverrun. I need him freed, and soon. Now, tell me how these two scum can assist in breaking into a keep, or I may take your head as well."

Biter  _hissed _ at him, displaying his rotten teeth once more.

"A man is a poor fighter. Rorge and Biter can assist should a man come upon any guards."

Tyrion had half a mind to strike the three of their heads and be done with it, but his brother needed him, and he was quickly running out of time before Cersei would expect something other than 'I'm working on it'. He looked to Rorge. "Can you obey commands, Rorge? Better yet, will you obey _my_ commands?"

Rorge grunted. "Biter and I want to live, so aye."

"Good, so there is just one more thing then. Bronn, come in here."

The sellsword entered the solar. "Aye, my lord."

"Gather some men. I want Biter's teeth removed, and I don't imagine he'll like it very much."

As soon as Bronn was gone, Biter  _hissed _ and moved forward, though his ankle chains only allowed for a slow shuffle. Alan stepped up behind him and slammed his club into the back of Biter's pudgy head, sending him to the floor with a loud  _thud_ . Alan drove a boot into the small of Biter's back, preventing him from rising.

"You can't take Biter's teeth!" Rorge shouted, yet he remained still.

"And why can't I?" Tyrion questioned in a cheerful tone. In truth, he was sickened by the thought of removing a man's teeth, but he could not allow a man in his service to commit such atrocities.

"Biter is his damn name. He can't bite without his teeth,  _dwarf_ ."

"It is either his teeth or his head, there is no other option," Tyrion responded in a voice like ice. He jerked his head to Jaqen H'gar, the man's silence further infuriating him. "Do you have a problem with this?" Tyrion almost hoped that he would, so that he could order their heads off and be done with it.

"A man has no qualms with a lord's order. A man must be ashamed of his company, but he has need of them all the same."

Tyrion turned back to Rorge. "After your companion's teeth are removed, you'll be given a bath and a hot meal. You will follow every command given by myself or Jaqen. If you serve well, I won't have you executed upon your return."

" _Biter_ , is his damn name," Rorge repeated like a dullard, though his eyes held a dangerous light.

Tyrion laughed at the man. "I suppose he'll now have to be known for the bite of his steel."

Rorge took a short step towards Tyrion, just as Bronn returned with six clansmen at his back. Two grabbed Rorge by the shoulders, halting any movement. Two others moved to help Alan in lifting Biter from the floor, each taking an arm.

When Biter was almost to his feet, Alan placed a hand on his collarbone to finish dragging him upwards. Biter looked up at Tyrion and grinned, unnerving him. He saw something in the man's eyes that gave him pause, but too late did he realize what was going to happen. In the blink of an eye, Biter whipped his head around and sunk his teeth into the back of Alan's hand. A terrible  _ripping _ was all Tyrion could hear as the scene unfolded before him, powerless to do anything but watch. 

Alan howled in pain and tried to wrench his hand away, but Biter clamped down and held fast. One of the clansmen drew their sword and slammed the pommel into Biter's head, causing the brute to go slack in their arms. Alan fell to his knees, his hand now free, and grasped at his wrist. A chunk of flesh hung limply from his hand, and blood flowed through his fingers and onto the floor.

The coppery stench of blood snapped Tyrion from his stupor. "Timett. Hulitt. Take Alan to the Grand Maester," he ordered. "If Pycelle takes issue, tell him the Hand orders him seen to. But first, bind his hand. I'll not have him bleed out on the way."

Timett knelt in front of Alan and ripped a scrap a cloth from his jerkin. He moved the chunk of flesh in place and cinched it with the cloth. The clansmen lifted Alan and allowed him to lean on them as they walked from the solar.

Now that Alan was seen to, Tyrion turned his attention to Biter, who remained still in the arms of Shagga and another clansmen that he didn't recognize at present. Biter looked up at him, his face and mouth covered in blood, then smiled and licked the blood from his lips. "Bronn, take Biter to the King's Justice, I have no use for a monster, and his presence sickens me."

Rorge fell to his knees, despite the men holding his arms. "Please, my lord," he begged. "I've raised Biter since he was a boy. He won't bite anymore, I swear it. Just take 'is teeth . . .  _please_ ."

Tyrion glared at the broken man, though the strange showing of sadness gave him a brief moment of doubt. Was it true sadness, or just an act? "No, his teeth aren't enough anymore. He gave up that mercy when his teeth broke the flesh of Alan's hand. You will comply or follow him to the grave, it makes no matter to me."

"A life for a hand, that isn't fair," Rorge argued.

Tyrion laughed, loud and long and full of true mirth. He couldn't say why he laughed, perhaps the smell of blood had driven him to madness, yet it happened all the same.  _A murderer seeks to ply me with what's fair._ "Life is not fair, Rorge, as your's and Biter's victims have come to find out."

Rorge's head dropped, crestfallen. Finally, after several exasperating long moments, he spoke. "His hand . . . take his hand . . . and his teeth. Take it and we'll be your men, I swear it. We'll obey your every command and free your brother."

Tyrion whipped his head around to Biter. "Is that so? Will you be my leal servant if I spare your life." Biter gnashed his teeth at Rorge, then at Tyrion. "I don't know, he doesn't seem to want to live," he said.

"Biter, damn you," Rorge cursed. "We don't 'ave a choice, do as the lord says or they'll kill you."

The brute shut his mouth and nodded at Tyrion.

"To be certain," said Tyrion. "You are agreeing to be my loyal servant, for the price of life, at the cost of your hand and teeth."

Biter nodded again.

_I should just have him killed_ , Tyrion thought, yet he said, "Bronn, take it off at the elbow. It is not like that Alan's hand will be able to be saved."

"Which arm?" Bronn asked, drawing his sword.

"Whichever you decide . . . and damn it, Bronn, you won't be doing it here. Take him to the dungeons."

"Aye, my lord." Bronn barked out some orders and the two prisoners were escorted from the room, leaving Tyrion alone with the only remaining prisoner.

Tyrion moved around the table and found Alan's keys lying discarded on the floor. He scooped them up and unlocked the shackles at Jaqen's ankles, though he left the ones at his wrists. "Sit Jaqen, you have much explaining to do."

"A lord does not fear for his safety, being alone with a criminal."

Tyrion sat back in his seat and poured a cup of honeyed wine, but when he went to take a sip his stomach rolled. He pushed the cup at Jaqen H'gar, who sat and accepted it with a smile. "Do I have cause to fear for my safety?"

"No, a man was only making conversation."

"We have nothing to speak of other than why I just spared those two monsters for you."

"A man has a need for them," the Lorathi replied.

"That's not good enough of an answer, unless you wish to use them for last words."

Jaqen took the threat with a smile. "A man can not always explain his reasons, yet he has them all the same. A man can promise that if you allow those two to live, then a lord's brother shall be returned to him."

Tyrion ground his teeth, wondering how the crows might like to make nests from the man's red-and-white hair. He realized what he was doing and relaxed his jaw. "I could send a dozen of my men with you . . . why must it be those two?"

"A dozen men would be too many," Jaqen H'gar answered. "Two should work, and a man would not take from the lord's garrison."

Tyrion sighed. "Fine, but if you return without my brother, I'll make you wish I had only taken your head."

"If a man should happen to fail, then he will be dead, and it will make no matter."

"Why should you be so loyal? I imagined you'd bugger off before you even set foot in the riverlands."

"Three lives a lord took from the Red God this day, and only death may pay for life. This lord must give three in their places. Speak the names, and a man will do the rest, after he has freed a lord's brother."

Tyrion peered at him incredulously, then burst out laughing. "You can't be serious." He expected the Lorathi to share in the laugh, but he didn't, and the smile was now gone from his face as well. _He's serious._ _Any name . . . I could name Cersei, and see an end to her hold over Jaime . . . or I could name Renly, or Jon, or Stannis, and help to end the war. _An ill feeling passed over him, and he felt bile rise in his throat at the thought of ending a life in such a way. If there was a Red God, then it would have to pick three names without his help. "You'll have no names from me," Tyrion stated plainly. "I want only for my brother to be freed from Riverrun. If your _Red God_ must have its due, then a few Tully guardsmen will have to suffice."

"A lord does not understand what a man is offering-"

" _A lord _ does not care what you're offering. Peddle your horseshit to someone who is stupid enough to mistake it for gold, but I am not interested. If you return to King's Landing with my brother, I will give you more gold than you're like to know how to spend, but I won't supply you with names." He sighed, his stomach turning. " _Come in here_ !" Tyrion shouted to the guardsmen on the door.

Jaqen H'gar stood and bowed. "A lord will not be disappointed, this man assures."

"For your sake, I sincerely hope so," Tyrion said to Jaqen before turning to his guards. "Escort our friend to Bronn in the dungeons, I'll be alright."

Once he was alone the ill feeling began to lessen, allowing him to breathe easier. His brother used to say that it was easier to ask for forgiveness than permission, when speaking in regards to their father. Tyrion hoped the Seven would feel the same, though he doubted it. He grabbed the wine cup Jaqen had left on his desk, and was pleased to find it still half-full. He lifted it to his lips, but was hit with the coppery smell of Alan's blood. He sighed and dumped the wine out onto the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Next chapter will be Davos I :)


	19. Davos I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With this chapter we strike a big personal milestone of mine, 100k words. I want to take a moment and thank everyone that has read and continue to read my story. I appreciate every single one of you, whether you leave comments or kudos, or if just read the update each week. This was a project I felt very nervous about starting, and even more nervous about posting, but I'm so glad that I did. And we're only just getting started . . . ;D

Davos watched the crew of the Velaryon's _Pride of Driftmark _from the deck of _Black Betha _as they moored the ship and began to unload. Monford Velaryon and his men were the last of Dragonstone's vassals to arrive and they seemed to be in good spirit. A Targaryen crowning himself king could do that to men, Davos supposed. He knew little and less of kings and Targaryens. Captaining ships and smuggling were what he knew best, and they were profoundly easier than being a knight, though he couldn't complain. Stannis had risen him high, and he would forever be indebted to him for that.

"Ser Onion Knight," a voice called from the dock. "Might I come aboard?"

"Never known you to ask, Salla, are you feeling well?" Davos replied.

Salladhor Saan walked up the gangplank carrying a flagon in one hand and two cups in the other. "Better than, my friend, better than. Would you share a drink with me?"

"No, I don't think it would be proper . . ."

"_Proper_?" Salladhor Saan drawled. "When has Davos of Flea Bottom ever been proper, I would ask. Come and drink with me, to celebrate." He poured a cup and held it out to Davos, who accepted it grudgingly.

"What is there to celebrate?" He saw no cause for merriment. Stannis had locked himself away with the red woman when the Targaryen's letter arrived, and no one had seen him since. That was set to change this night though, now that the vassals had all arrived. Lady Melisandre brought the message that Stannis would be holding a feast to discuss the matter of Jon Targaryen.

"What is there to celebrate, you say, but I say, what isn't there to celebrate? War is profitable, Davos, and this one will go for a long while, I am thinking. Jon . . . not a very Valyrian name, but it is the House name that carries weight, and gold."

"And if Stannis were to crown himself?" Davos found himself asking. He took a long drink of the wine.

"A dragon is worth two stags," Salladhor Saan said with smile.

Davos looked at him strangely, but the Lyseni only laughed.

"I was speaking of the coins, my friend, there is no need to be so grim. My loyalties lie with the man that pays me. So long as your Stannis meets my price, I see no reason why I should not bend the knee and hail him king, if it comes to that." Salladhor Saan poured himself a cup and set the flagon aside. "Do you think that he will take up the crown?"

"I wouldn't know," said Davos. He was an upjumped smuggler, the thoughts of lords and kings were far beyond his comprehension.

The Lyseni laughed and pounded him on the back. "Come now, Davos, surely you must have some idea what he might decide. You give him counsel, do you not?"

"When he asks it of me." Davos took another long drink. "Stannis will do what is just, and I will follow him, that is what I know." He squeezed the pouch containing his finger bones. They were his luck, and a reminder of his lord's sense of justice.

Salladhor sighed animatedly. "He is only taking counsel with the red woman these days, yes? What are you thinking of this, my friend?"

"I don't think much on who he takes advice from, Salla. It is not my place."

"I am missing Davos of Flea Bottom, the smuggler. He would always be laughing and talking of the happenings with old Salladhor Saan," the pirate huffed out. "Ser Davos Seaworth is not much fun."

"Smugglers have to know which ports to avoid and if any lords are learning of their business, or else he loses his head. For a knight to avoid the same, he need only to serve his lord well."

Salladhor turned to the bay, looking almost wistful.

Davos laid a hand on his shoulder. "It will be okay, Salla, you'll see. No matter what Stannis decides, you will profit greatly."

"In paper," he responded. "Paper and promises, that is what Salladhor Saan is receiving. I belong on the seas, Davos, that is my realm and birthright."

_Just as Flea Bottom is mine, but here we are. _Davos couldn't fault him for having doubts. How could he, when he was having them as well. His wife and younger sons were waiting for him at Cape Wrath. _You wouldn't have Cape Wrath if it weren't for Stannis, smuggler, _a strange voice reminded him. "If there was but one thing I could be certain of, it would be that Stannis' promises are worth more than gold."

"Davos is the reason I am here, not your lord. Stannis promises gold and Salladhor Saan is left doubting of the truth. If Davos is telling me that Stannis will pay what is promised, then I am believing him." Salladhor finished his cup and poured another.

"I am-" Davos shut his mouth when he heard footsteps behind them.

"Father."

He turned and found his son standing there, but something was strange about his appearance. Devan was dressed in a cream-colored doublet with a flaming heart sewn onto the breast. His hair had been washed and trimmed, but what surprised Davos most was his chin and cheeks. Devan was fiercely proud of the peach fuzz he had been growing, but it had all been shaven off. "What are you wearing, son?"

"Garment befitting the king's squire, Father. King Stannis has taken for his sigil the fiery heart of the Lord of Light, the one true god."

"King?" Salladhor Saan asked.

"The one true god?" Davos asked.

"Yes . . . and yes," Devan responded hesitantly. The boy straightened up and appeared sure of himself. "King Stannis requests both of your presences in the Great Hall at once. The lords have already gathered and the king does not like being kept waiting." He spoke as though Davos was just another knight under his king's command.

Davos was speechless, but he managed a nod.

"Good, there are horses waiting at the end of the dock." He turned away and walked off the ship.

"Are you believing this, Davos?"

"Not if I hadn't heard it from Devan's own mouth," Davos admitted. Stannis taking the crown was not a shock, but forsaking the Seven in favor of the Red God was surprising. He had never been a devout man, but forsaking the gods of Westeros would not go over well with many lords.

"I suppose we had best be going. The king does not like to be kept waiting, I am hearing."

Davos nodded again, then refilled his cup and drained it in a few short gulps.

The ride up to Dragonstone was short and uncomfortable. Devan rode in silence and Davos was not far from it. Every time Salladhor Saan attempted conversation, he responded only with short answers. The pirate quickly decided to be silent as well.

Above the portcullis, men-at-arms were working to replace the crowned stag banners with the new ones of the Lord of Light. _Stannis couldn't have made all these in one day_, and with that thought came the realization. _Stannis didn't have them all made today . . . _Davos grabbed ahold of his luck and held fast as he rode. He had a feeling there would be a need for it before long.

They dismounted in a courtyard by the Stone Drum and handed their horses off to the waiting stableboys. Davos never failed to be impressed by Dragonstone, and equally unnerved by it. It was said that the Valyrians used dragonfire and sorcery to mold the stone into the shape of dragons. The Great Hall of the Stone Drum was shaped like a dragon laying on its belly. The doors were set in the mouth, so one has to pass beneath the gateway teeth and through the dragon's maw to enter. Davos halted a moment to admire the masonry.

"Come on," Devan urged impatiently. "King Stannis is waiting."

"You should be more respecting, boy, Ser Davos is your father," Salladhor said.

Devan hung his head in shame. "I'm sorry, Father, but the king won't start until you're there, and I don't want to fail him."

"You won't son," Davos assured, "but I guess we had best not keep the lords waiting any longer." Onion knights and pirates were not people that lords liked being made to wait over.

When the doors shut behind them, four guards with the fiery heart sigil on their surcoat moved in front of the door, spears in hand. Davos didn't know what to make of it, so he just continued on.

The Great Hall was massive, yet the lords and their parties were in two tight groups. On the left side of the room sat the lords Velaryon, Bar Emmon, Sunglass, and Celtigar. Ser Hubard Rambton was also present with his three sons. They were scowling and speaking amongst themselves in hushed tones. The young Duram Bar Emmon was ghastly pale and looked ready to retch, Davos noticed.

On the right sat the lords Chyttering, Farring, Follard, and Massey. They drank wine by the flagon and laughed loudly at each other’s jests. Davos' sons Allard, Dale, Maric and Matthos were also there, though they did not partake in the merriment. It was clear how the news had been received by both groups.

The king's table sat five, but only four were present, and none were the king. Lady Selyse sat with her daughter Shireen, and Ser Axell Florent sat with Lady Melisandre. _The red woman_.

Davos took a seat between his two eldest sons and looked anxiously up at the king's table. "Where's Stannis?" he wondered aloud.

"No one knows," Dale answered. "The red woman has been the only to speak and she hasn't said much. Only that the king was very busy. What's going on?"

"I don't know," said Davos, never taking his eyes off the king's table.

Ser Axell caught his eye and smiled cruelly. "Good of you to finally grace us with your presence, onion knight."

"I was tending to _Black Betha_, ser."

"Please elaborate, onion knight, I am no man of the seas such as yourself."

"I was checking the hull and rigging for signs of wear or fraying. There was that storm a few nights past, and I wanted to make sure my ship was alright, in case I needed to depart."

"Why . . . pray tell, would you ever need to depart?"

"The king may need for me to complete a task that requires my ship. If it's not repaired, than I cannot sail," Davos responded steadily.

The knight's beady, close-set eyes scanned the room. "Ah, there you are, _pirate_. Were you also _tending _to your ship?"

The pirate captain laughed and lifted his cup of wine in mock salute. "Salladhor Saan does not see to the tending of ships. I was drinking." He downed the rest of the cup in a few short drinks.

"You made us wait while you got drunk? Is that what you're saying, _pirate_?"

Salladhor laughed once more and refilled his cup. "I would've been the first to arrive if your messenger had been telling me of the wine. From the Arbor, yes? I am only finding grape-flavored piss at the docks, yet it gets me drunk all the same, so I drink. Mayhap I could take a cask or two. My mouth would forever be indebted to you, ser."

Ser Axell's face turned to a shade of red similar to that of the red woman's ruby choker. He whipped his head around to Davos. "Your _pirate_ mocks the king in his own hall with such insolence."

"I would never mock our dear king," Salladhor Saan argued. "I was only asking for a cask of this fine wine. If there are any casks left, that is. It is looking as though you have been partaking a little too much, good ser. You're slurring the word pirate and your face is all red . . . are you feeling quite well? Are you needing to see a maester?"

"How _dare_ you insult me. _His Grace will hear of this_!" Ser Axell roared, lurching to his feet.

"He already has, Ser Axell," said Melisandre.

Davos looked to the door behind the king's table and sure enough, Stannis was standing there, his jaw working while he silently watched Ser Axell. A crown of red gold sat atop his head, its points wrought to look like flames.

"Your Grace, I . . ." Ser Axell began, but Stannis silenced him with a look.

"Say another word, ser, and your seat will be forfeit to Davos."

"Your Grace, my uncle was only defending his honor and your own. This . . . _pirate_ was mocking you."

Stannis held his wife's gaze sternly for a moment before taking his seat. "Salladhor Saan will be given three casks to take with him when he leaves the keep." He turned to glare at Ser Axell. "You will assist in seeing the casks safely to his-"

"You can't be serious," Selyse protested. "This pirate is granted wine for-"

"_Be quiet_," Stannis ground out. "Do you take me for a fool?"

Selyse opened her mouth to speak, but Stannis held up a hand and she closed it once more.

"Don't answer that. I have been listening for a while and there was no mockery, except for what Ser Axell was spewing when I entered." Stannis looked to Lady Melisandre, who nodded once before turning away. "As I was saying, Ser Axell, you will assist in bring the wine casks to the captain's ship. Davos, you said that you were tending to your ship, correct?"

"Yes, Your Grace, that is correct."

"Is it ready to sail?"

"The water casks need to be filled, and I'll need to load provisions, but other than that, yes, it is ready."

"Good, we'll speak more on the morrow." The king stroked his beard, then stood. "My brother Robert sired no children by his wife, Cersei Lannister. Joffrey, Tommen, and Myrcella are abominations, bastards born of incest and adultery by her brother, the Kingslayer. I am my brother's true heir, and the true king of the Seven Kingdoms. Let all true men bend the knee and swear fealty."

Davos got up from the table and went down on one knee. All of the lords around him were bending the knee as well. Salladhor Saan was the only one that showed hesitation, but soon enough he too bent the knee. Then, Davos looked across the hall . . . and none of Dragonstone's vassals had even stood, much less kneeled. _Just do it, you bloody fools,_ Davos silently pleaded. _Stannis is a good man, he'll lead you well. _His silent plea fell on deaf ears.

Stannis regarded the defiant lords with hard eyes, but it was Ser Axell that spoke. "King Stannis is the Lord's chosen. Kneel before your true king."

Lord Guncer Sunglass spat. "The Others take your Lord of Light, and your_ true king_ too."

"Why do you not bend the knee, Lord Monford? You have served King Stannis as his vassal for years and never once voiced complaint," Melisandre questioned the fair-haired lord of Driftmark.

"As lord, yes, we served faithfully, but we will not name him our king, my lady."

"Why not?"

Monford stood from the trestle table. "The ravens stated that we were to come to Dragonstone and discuss the crowning of Jon Targaryen. Now, arriving here to find that not only will we not discuss it, but we are commanded to bend the knee." He turned to the doors and waved a hand at the guards blocking the exit. "What would be done should we try and leave? How can this be taken to mean anything but bend the knee or die?"

"If it were up to me, mentioning the name Jon Targaryen would be an act of treason," Ser Axell snarled.

"Threats do nothing but harden our resolve, ser."

"Enough, Ser Axell, the king will discuss Jon Targaryen, if that is their wish," Lady Melisandre said.

"It is what we came for, my lady."

"The choice to rebel was not easy for me," said Stannis, "but it was a choice between my brother or the king, and I made my decision, just as all men must. Robert won the war, and all present bent the knee and hailed him king. I am Robert's true heir by all the laws of the Seven Kingdoms. The Iron Throne is mine by right. All men who deny that are traitors and I will destroy them."

"Robert Baratheon was a usurper and a fool," Lord Sunglass protested.

Lord Monford laid a hand on Guncer's shoulder. "What Lord Sunglass is trying to say is that Robert was never the rightful king. The Citadel clings to their ideals, and their books all state that Robert gained the throne because of his Targaryen grandmother. All other Targaryens were living in exile, leaving him with the best claim and no one with the power to contest it. Jon Targaryen is Rhaegar's last living son. Some may claim he is lying, but I intend to meet with him and hear what he has to say, as do the rest of the vassals." Monford sighed and added, "It is not too late to do the just thing, my lord."

"The king can save you the trip, my lords," Lady Melisandre said with a strange smile. "Jon Targaryen is a false dragon, nothing more than a story made up by Lord Eddard Stark to gain power."

"Then I would ask to see such proof, my lady, to gauge the truth for myself."

Stannis looked to Melisandre before speaking. "After receiving the Targaryen's letter, I spent many nights in front of the nightfire, searching for the truth. Five nights passed before I saw something in the flames. A cloth dragon and a cloth wolf side-by-side, dancing before a cheering crowd. There are no Targaryens in Westeros, only pretenders and usurpers."

Lord Guncer guffawed. "You expect us to believe this meager load of horse shit. A vision told you the Targaryen was false . . ." A fresh wave of laughter rolled over him.

"Enough, Guncer, japes do us no favors," Monford chastised. "My lord, how can you expect us to believe this? A false god has given you a vision that grants you a claim to the throne. For our years of faithful service, we ask only to be allowed to leave Dragonstone, unharmed. You are not the type to force vows from men with a dagger at their throat, are you?"

"I will do what I must to win my throne. A few disloyal lords are a small price to pay for seven kingdoms."

"It is the block then, but please, I beg of you, do not punish my son for my crimes. He is only a boy."

"There will be no executions this day," Melisandre said. "For the king is not the only who receives visions. The Lord of Light granted me one just this morn. A young seahorse, hidden in the shadow of a dragon."

_A young seahorse? _Davos wondered. The confusion only grew when he noticed Lord Monford's face pale in response to the words. Two guards entered the hall through the king's door with a small boy between them. He was dressed in a thick woolen doublet embroidered with a silver seahorse upon the left breast. His skin was pale and his hair silver, just like . . .

"_Unhand him_!" Lord Monford bellowed.

The two guards looked to Stannis, who nodded. The boy ran across the hall and straight into his father's arms. "I'm sorry, Father, I stayed below deck, just as you said. Please don't be angry with me," Davos could hear the boy saying.

Monford gently pushed his son to arm's length. "I'm not angry, Monterys, I promise. You did just what I asked, and I couldn't be more proud of you. Do you remember Lord Duram? He visited Driftmark for your last name day. Sit with him while Father works this out, okay?"

The little boy nodded and sat down next to the young Duram Bar Emmon.

Monford rounded on Stannis, his eyes wet with fresh tears and his face tight. "Is this the way you conduct yourself now, _Your Grace_? Threatening children to gain fealty?"

"This is no threat, Lord Monford," Melisandre answered. "House Velaryon will be the granted the honor of having its heir serve as the king's personal page."

"My son is only five name days old," Monford protested. "That is too young to serve as a page. Allow him to return to Driftmark and you will have my fealty, I swear it."

"Your son will attend me while I remain on Dragonstone," said Stannis. "When we ride to war, he will remain here, safe, of that you have my word."

Monford appeared conflicted for several moments, as if he wanted to argue further, but then he nodded and sat down.

"Lord Duram Bar Emmon, you will remain on Dragonstone as a ward and companion to my daughter, Princess Shireen."

Monford laid a hand on the young lord's shoulder and nodded once.

"T-thank you, Your Grace," Duram said, though he looked sickly.

"Lord Sunglass, you will-"

"-Be taking no commands from the likes of you," Lord Guncer sneered, standing from the table. "You may cow these other lords with your false honors, but you won't force me to bend the knee. I have no sons, and I'm not a green boy either. I'll be taking my leave now."

Lord Guncer walked to the door, but the guards would not part to allow him through.

"Out of my way," he commanded, yet still the guards would not move.

"Lord Sunglass, take caution with your actions," Melisandre warned. "Be seated and hear what the king has to say."

Guncer turned back and spat. "Bugger that, order your guards aside or I'll move them myself. I've had enough of your king and this _Lord of Light_. The Father will see that all of you are sent to the deepest of the seven hells for your blasphemy."

"There are only two gods, R'hllor and the Other. Your gods do not exist."

Guncer let out a bitter chuckle. "I shan't miss you or your false god, witch. Now, order these guards aside, Stannis, I won't ask a third time."

Davos watched Stannis intently as he glared at the defiant lord, grounding his teeth . . . but then he nodded. _He's letting him go? _Davos silently questioned, shocked and confused. If Stannis truly believed he was the true king, than Lord Sunglass was a traitor. Stannis was not one to grant mercy to those he deemed traitors.

Guncer nodded in reply and turned back to the door.

Davos never saw the guard move, nor did he hear a sound come from Lord Guncer, but he saw the spear protruding from the Lord of Sweetport Sound's back, and he heard the _dripping _of blood. The guard angled his spear and the body slid off, hitting the ground with a wet _thump_. All Davos could see was the red blood streaming from the lord's chest and rapidly pooling beneath him. _Red God . . . red blood . . . red woman_. Davos shuddered and looked away.

"Would anyone else like to leave?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Next chapter is Sansa III :)


	20. Sansa III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, I'm sorry for getting this up late. I'm visiting family during spring break and was travelling most of the weekend, so I wasn't able to get this edited and posted until today . . .

Sansa couldn't help the smile that graced her face. How could she not smile, when her Florian was going to rescue her from this wretched place. No more Joffrey . . . or the queen . . . or Meryn Trant. Home, she was going home, Dontos had promised. She was still worried that it may be a trick, but for what reason? Sansa had saved his life, so he was helping her to return the favor . . . it made sense.

She walked to the window and opened it. The afternoon sun warmed her skin delightfully, and she relished in it. Everything around her seemed brighter after her meeting with Dontos. The flowers smelled sweeter than they had for weeks and the bird's song no longer sounded like 'The Reynes of Castamere'.

On the drawbridge below, stood a short knight in the armor of the Kingsguard. Judging by his height it could only have been Ser Preston Greenfield. She wanted to find Ser Arys, to thank him for standing up for her, but the knight was never at the drawbridge when Sansa looked. Occasionally, he would be seen alongside the king, but she would never approach him with Joffrey present.

Sansa heard voices from outside her chambers, and they sounded angry. Dread filled the pit of her tummy. _Joffrey couldn't have found out about Dontos . . . he couldn't have . . ._

The door swung open and a tall man stepped inside, looked her up and down, and snorted. "So, you're the traitor these royal cunts seem so worked up over. Don't look so tough to me." He was clean shaven, dressed in the black breastplate of the City Watch and the crimson cloak of the Lannisters.

She stumbled to find her voice, only managing to get three words out before clamping her mouth shut once more. "I-I'm Sansa S-Stark . . ."

"I bloody well know who you are. Do you know who I am?"

Sansa meekly shook her head. The man's rough voice and rough manner frightened her. "No, ser."

"My name's Bronn," said the man, "and I'm not one of them fancy white knights neither."

"_Good_," Sansa whispered, hoping he didn't hear her.

She wasn't surprised that he did. "Don't like them fanciful pricks, do you? No, I s'pose you wouldn't. You needn't worry 'bout me, so long as you do as I say."

"What do you want?" she asked, taking a step back.

The man snorted again. "Careful, girl, a few more steps and they'll be cleaning you from the cobbles. I want nothing, other than for you to follow and keep quiet."

"Who sent you?"

"The Hand of the King.”

Sansa wanted to question him more, but when she opened her mouth to speak, the man cut her off. "I don't know what he wants, girl, you seem a bore to me."

"The queen will hear of this, _sellsword_," a red-faced Ser Meryn Trant said from the door.

Sansa took another step back, though she was now careful of the window behind her. An ache bloomed in her ribs when she looked into the knight's droopy eyes. The bruises were gone, yet the pain remained. She often had nightmares of Ser Meryn. The false knight would beat her until she was broken and bloody, and all the while Joffrey would laugh at her misery. The night Sansa met with Dontos was the first in a long while that she was not plagued by nightmares. Instead, she dreamt of home, and of her family. Even Jon had appeared in the dream, though he had been silver-haired, which made feel her uncomfortable.

"That meant to be a threat? Go and tell the queen what you will, I'm doing as commanded. Come along, girl."

Sansa made no move towards either of the men.

"Would you rather stay here with this one?" Bronn asked, jerking his head towards Ser Meryn.

Sansa moved to stand behind the sellsword.

"Maybe you're not so stupid after all."

Ser Meryn Trant stepped forward to block the doorway, his hand grasping the hilt of his sword. "You'll not be taking the girl anywhere."

"Oh really?" Bronn asked incredulously. "And who's going to stop me . . . _you_?" His hand hovered above the dirk at his waist.

The knight scowled, but stepped aside all the same. "The queen will-"

"Hear of this," Bronn interrupted, annoyed. "I heard you the first damn time. Say it again and it'll be the last thing you ever say."

Bronn left the chamber, not bothering to wait for his reaction, but Sansa saw it. Ser Meryn had paled at the sellsword's threat. Unladylike as it may have been, she couldn't help but feel happy to see the knight fearful, just as he had made her feel. Sansa left him standing there with his fear and followed after the sellsword.

The lords and ladies of court watched as they passed. No one dared to utter a word to their face, but Sansa could hear the whispers behind her. Some had clear pity in their eyes, while others grimaced and looked away, others held her gaze disdainfully. Their expressions made her uncomfortable, which was why she stayed in her chambers or the Godswood most of the time, where no one bothered her.

The dread returned as they passed beneath the portcullis, like a heavy stone sat at the bottom of her tummy. _Lord Tyrion must know of Dontos . . . why else would he summon me? _A mailed hand grasped her elbow and jerked her backwards.

"Where do you think you're going, _child_?" Ser Preston Greenfield demanded, tightening his grip on her elbow.

Sansa's knees faltered and she stumbled, but she managed to keep her footing.

"Take your hand off the girl," Bronn ordered.

"Mind your business, sellsword, this one here's a traitor." Ser Preston Greenfield tightened his grip once more, making Sansa cry out in pain.

"The Hand wants her, now release your grasp before I do it for you."

Ser Preston laughed and gave her elbow another hard squeeze. "What are you going to do? You lowborn cu-"

Sansa fell backwards as the hand was wrenched violently from her elbow. She landed atop a flailing and sputtering Ser Preston. She took a knee to the back and an elbow to the side of the head before Bronn helped her to her feet. She turned back to look at the fallen knight. Blood leaked from his mouth and nose, leaving little red trails down his white armor.

"You . . . you punched me," said Ser Preston, almost as if in disbelief.

"Quick one, aren't you?" Bronn turned and grabbed Sansa's shoulder, not ungently. "We had best be leaving."

Sansa nodded and followed the sellsword away from Ser Preston. _If he is taking me to the King's Justice, then why attack Ser Preston? It makes no sense. Maybe Lord Tyrion doesn't know, and he truly just wants to speak . . . but of what? No one wants to speak to a traitor . . ._

As they passed the sept, Sansa thought to ask for a moment to pray. It was not truly meant as such, but more as a moment to collect herself. Her elbow throbbed unpleasantly, as did her head and back. There was no doubt that she looked a mess, and she wanted to look her best if she was to go before the Hand of the King. She hesitated though, and the opportunity passed before she could work up the nerve to ask.

The Tower of the Hand looked so menacing now. Sansa had hoped never to come back, but a confessed traitor does not ignore a summons from the Hand of the King. She had heard of Lord Tyrion's defiance in the face of his sister through the gossip of her bedmaids, but she would never trust him. He was still a Lannister, and besides, with men like Bronn surrounding him, it would not take a particularly brave man to stand up to Cersei.

Sansa slowed her pace as they passed the barracks. Once, in what felt like decades past, her father's men had lived in the barracks, and dined in the Small Hall . . . and several had been murdered here as well. She had never even bothered to learn their names. Back when she had been a lord's daughter, it had seemed trivial and pointless to bother with such things, but now she regretted it.

"Come on, girl, you don't want to bother those men. They aren't like to care if you're some lord's daughter," Bronn said, breaking Sansa from her thoughts.

She had barely even noticed the men in the barracks, but now she saw them. Many were missing a finger . . . or an ear . . . some of them were even missing a nipple . . . and their wounds were _burnt_. The burnt men stared at her with cruel eyes that reminded her of Joffrey's, though at least they didn't try to mask their cruelty with smiles and charm. Sansa wasn't sure if it was an improvement, but it was something. One of them caught her eye and licked his lips. She shuddered and followed Bronn towards the stairs.

The sellsword led her to what had once been her father's solar. _It's Lord Tyrion's solar now, and your father is a traitor_, Sansa reminded herself. It was not the truth, of course, but the truth would get her killed. She would tell as many lies as it took to allow her the chance to apologize to her family.

"You shouldn't worry about him, you know," Bronn said. "Imps only devour the flesh of boys, they hate the taste of girls."

The door swung open. "Is that so?" Lord Tyrion challenged, smiling at the sellsword. Bronn grinned, yet said nothing. "As I thought, now Lady Sansa if you'll . . . my lady you're shaking, are you alright? And what happened to your head?"

Sansa hadn't realized she was shaking, but when she tried to stop, her shaking seemed to only grow worse. "I-I . . . I'm s-sorry . . ."

"Ran into a bit of trouble getting here, the girl was hurt."

Lord Tyrion cursed. "You couldn't have stopped them . . . damn it, don't answer that." He cursed again. "My lady, I'm sorry for what happened to you, please come in and sit, you need not fear me. You as well, Bronn. You're going to tell me everything."

Sansa dutifully stepped into the solar, her eyes downcast, when she noticed a strange red stain on the floor. "It's blood," she said, and almost immediately regretted it. _It's just blood, Sansa, you've seen it before . . . _

"Yes," said Lord Tyrion, "there has been much unpleasantness of late. I'm beginning to wonder if Littlefinger was right about the curse on this place."

Sansa kept her mouth shut and took a seat in front of Lord Tyrion's desk. The Tower of the Hand certainly felt cursed . . .

Lord Tyrion climbed into his own chair and poured three cups of wine. "Wine will help to calm your nerves, my lady . . . well it helps to calm mine, at least. Please have a cup, mayhap it will help you in some small way."

Sansa took the offered cup and drank a few sips before setting it back on the desk. The warmth slid down her throat and into her tummy, giving her a small amount of courage, though not enough to speak. She grabbed the cup and took another drink.

Bronn sat next to her, but he waved off the offer of wine.

"So tell me, Bronn, what happened? Oh, and don't spare the details."

"Had a run in with one of the Kingsguard on my way to get her. Trant, I think his bloody name was. He didn't like that you wanted to see the girl, so he kept spouting off about how the queen would hear of it, like that would stop me." Bronn snorted, and Tyrion impatiently gestured for him to continue. "Right, so I got the girl and we were leaving the keep. Trant fucked off to go cry to the queen. We were crossing the drawbridge when some short prick wrenched the girl back by her elbow. He didn't care that the Hand wanted her either, so I had to remove his hand for him. Think I may've broken his nose."

"Who was this _short prick_?" Lord Tyrion asked, but Sansa had a feeling he already knew the answer.

"I don't know," said Bronn. "One of them Kingsguard knights like Trant, but I don't know his name."

"Ser Preston Greenfield," Sansa quietly supplied.

Lord Tyrion scratched. "Ah, yes, I thought as much. You may go, Bronn."

The sellsword drained the cup of wine and left, leaving Sansa alone with the Hand of the King. His mismatched eyes watched her almost curiously. She took another small drink from her cup and worked up the nerve to speak. "You're not going to punish him, are you? He was only trying to protect me . . ."

"Who, Bronn?"

Sansa nodded.

"Why would he be punished?"

"He attacked one of Joffrey's Kingsguard, and it was all to protect someone like _me_."

"Someone like you?" Tyrion questioned gently. "I'm afraid I don't quite understand what you mean."

"_A traitor_ . . ." Something flashed in his eyes, something that she didn't recognize, but then Tyrion began to laugh. Sansa did not join him in his merriment. Traitors were no laughing matter.

Tyrion stopped laughing when he noticed the serious expression on her face. He took a drink from his cup and pursed his lips. "Do you take me for a fool, my lady?"

"No . . . I don't think you're a fool, my lord."

"Good, it would be a shame if you thought the same of me as my sister does." Tyrion took another drink from his cup before continuing. "I will say this only once, and I shall deny it if it ever comes up again, but I know you're not a traitor."

Sansa gasped. "Truly?" she asked before she was able to stop herself.

"Oh, yes, I heard all about that day. Gold cloaks surrounding you with swords at the ready, your friend telling my sister's lies to the court, then promising leniency if you confessed. What sane person wouldn't say what was necessary, when telling the truth would've meant your life?"

"And what is the truth, my lord?"

Tyrion chuckled at the word _truth_. "Who knows? But if Lord Stark is masquerading his bastard as some hidden Targaryen, you know nothing of it, and the plot certainly didn't begin before Robert's death. One needs only two eyes and a brain to see through my sister's flimsy story, of which I have both, but it would seem that the court does not. Now, if it ever comes up again, I will deny everything I just said."

"Then why say it at all?" She drank the last of her wine and set the cup aside, feeling brazen, or perhaps it was foolish.

"Why say anything at all, my lady? Why ask a man on the block for their last words? Oft as not, they mean as much as first words . . ." He paused and took a drink. "That was a poor comparison, I suppose. What I'm trying to say is that I wanted you to know that I know the truth, even if it can't be spoken outside of this room. Would you care for some more wine?"

Sansa looked to her empty cup. She _did _want more wine, but . . . "Father only allowed me one cup at feasts."

Tyrion smiled and refilled her cup. "I won't tell him if you promise the same."

Sansa sat quietly and sipped at the wine, trying to avoid the Hand's mismatched eyes. _Why did he bring me here? _She looked to the door and wondered if she could escape before Lord Tyrion could call for the guards . . . but where would she even go? There was no escape for her.

It was if Tyrion had read her mind. "You can leave, you know? I won't stop you, nor will my guards. You may be trapped in the Red Keep, but I won't force you to stay in this tower and speak to me, if you would rather be elsewhere."

"No, my lord, it's not that," she lied. "I just worry for you and your man, Bronn. Joffrey will be furious when he finds out one of his Kingsguard was attacked."

"Let me worry about my nephew, my lady, you needn't fear. Ser Preston went against a command given by the Hand of the King and harmed a valuable hostage . . . I apologize for calling you such, but it is the truth. He should consider himself lucky it was only his nose that was broken."

"But he's the king . . ."

"He's a king, I won't argue that, but it remains to be seen if he will remain _the _king." Tyrion cursed and took a deep drink from his cup. "I should not speak ill of my nephew, but his stupidity is only growing worse. Perchance you saw the commotion last night?"

"Yes, my lord, though I don't know what it was. I only saw men rushing about . . . Is Lord Renly drawing near?"

Tyrion laughed. "_Renly_? No . . . at the pace he's going, he's not like to arrive until the new century. The fiends that had our good soldiers dashing about was a group of smallfolk at the front gate, begging for food. The brave and valiant King Joffrey led a sortie against them. An inspiring boost to morale in the city, wouldn't you say?"

"No, I would not say that."

"Neither would I, and yet men such as myself have to work around our kings to save their lives. It is exhausting work."

"What do you plan to do?"

Tyrion _tsked _and leaned forward. "Are you hoping to spy on me for your cousin?"

Sansa mouth fell agape. "N-no, I would never betray my king. I am loyal to Joffrey . . . o-only Joffrey," she stammered, silently cursing her stupidity.

"It was only a jest, my lady, you are far too smart to attempt such a foolish thing. I prefer not to discuss my plans until after I have seen them through . . . less interference that way."

Sansa finished the cup, praying for more courage, but finding only wine. "I see."

"Do you?" Tyrion questioned, but then he sighed and took a drink of wine. "Never mind . . . Apologies for my behavior, this city puts me in a sour mood most days." He chuckled dryly. "Would you like to know why I sent for you, my lady?"

"Yes, my lord, if it please you."

"A few nights past, I was returning to my chambers when I saw you leaving the godswood. You were smiling, and I wanted to inquire as to what brought a true smile to your face."

Sansa gulped. _He knows._ "I . . . I couldn't say, my lord. I barely remember what I broke my fast on this day, much less what I was smiling for on that night. I'm sorry that I couldn't be of more help."

"There is no need to apologize. We'll just call it a man's curiosity and consider it done . . . My lady, you're shaking, what's the matter? Is it because of what happened with Ser Preston?"

_He doesn't know. _Sansa calmed herself and thanked the old gods for their help. She would lose her chance to escape if Dontos were to be discovered, and she couldn't let that happen. "Yes, that's it."

"If you'd like, you could stay here for a few days. It would only have to be until I've reprimanded Ser Preston. Your old chambers are unused and could easily be made ready."

"_No_," Sansa blurted out.

Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "No?"

"It's just . . ." She frantically searched for an answer, and finally it came to her. "It's this tower, my lord. My father's men died here not long ago. I could not sleep a wink in here . . . their ghosts would haunt me and give me terrible nightmares."

"I understand nightmares and ghosts better than you may think . . . they plague me as well, my lady." Tyrion sighed and drained the rest of his cup. "At least allow me to provide you with some men to guard you. Some Moon Brothers or Stone Crows should be good."

"The wildlings frighten me, my lord." It was not much of an objection, but she had to try. If there were men guarding her door, then she would never be able to see Dontos.

Tyrion chuckled. "Truth be told, they frighten me as well, but more importantly, they frighten Joffrey and those bastards he calls a Kingsguard. With Shagga beside you, they wouldn't dare try to harm you. Or perhaps women would make you feel more at ease? I could have Chella and some of her Black Ears serve as your guards."

Sansa feigned a gasp. "I've heard that the Black Ears cut the ears from the men they kill and wear them around their necks. That would frighten me worse than the others, I fear. All those rotten ears . . ." She shuddered at the thought.

"I'll grant that most of that is true, but you should know that the Black Ears do not kill those they take ears from. They leave them alive as a sign of shame, and to allow them the chance to win back their ear and cleanse that shame. But, I will not force you to accept my men if you don't feel comfortable with them."

"Thank you for understanding, my lord." She looked out the window at the setting sun. "I think I had better get back to my chamber."

"Could I ask one small favor of you, my lady?"

Sansa gulped. "Of course, what is it?"

"Would you permit me to arrange an escort for you? They would only escort you to your chamber before returning here. If my clansmen frighten you so, then it could be just Bronn. If not for your own safety, then allow me to do this for my peace of mind. I would hate for Bronn's actions to bring you any harm from my nephew."

"Okay," said Sansa, "but only for your peace of mind."

Tyrion smiled and called for Bronn. "Thank you, my lady."

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes before Bronn arrived and she left the tower. Sansa still didn't understand why Lord Tyrion had sent for her. It couldn't have just been about her smiling . . . or could it? _No_, Sansa chastised herself. _The Lannister's sigil may be a lion, but they are all snakes. _There must have been some sinister motive for why he wanted to see her . . . and she needed to figure out what it was. _But what if he truly was just curious about my smile and wanted to offer protection? _Sansa pushed the thought from her mind. _I'm going home . . . that's the only thing that matters._

Ser Preston was gone when they arrived at the drawbridge, in his place stood his sworn brother, Ser Mandon Moore. The knight watched them with his lifeless pale eyes, yet said nothing and made no move to stop them from passing.

Sansa walked beside Bronn as they ascended the winding steps that would lead to her chamber. As they neared the top, Sansa breathed a sigh of relief. _Almost there. _Someone walked around the corner and straight into her, knocking her off-balance. The person stunk of excrement and moldy bread, a strange scent for someone wandering the halls of Maegor's Holdfast. Then the scent was gone, and when Sansa looked up she saw Bronn holding a squirming boy by the collar.

"I'm sorry, m'lord . . . it was an accident, I swear. Please don't hurt me," the boy quietly pleaded, his eyes downcast. He was tall and dirty, dressed in tattered roughspun tunic and breeches, yet he looked well fed.

"I'm alright, Bronn, please let him go."

Bronn ignored her and dragged the boy closer, looking him up and down for several moments. "Go." He released his grip and the boy scurried off down the stairs. "Come on, girl, I need to get back to the Hand."

"Okay," said Sansa, following him down the hall, but something bothered her about the way Bronn had looked at the boy. "You weren't going to kill him, were you?"

Bronn snorted and walked off, leaving her alone outside her chamber.

Sansa went inside, stripped off her dress, and climbed into bed. It had been an exhausting day, and she was going to try meeting Dontos on the following night, so she needed her rest. _I can bathe on the morrow, _she told herself.

She leaned back onto the pillow and heard a muffled _crinkle_. Sansa lifted the pillow and sure enough, there was a folded piece of parchment beneath it. _Another message from Dontos . . . but why? _She unfolded it and read the words skeptically.

_Heed my words, my lady, and take caution from them. Dontos is no Florian, and he does not intend on taking you home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! The next chapter will be Jon IV :)


	21. Jon IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, it has been awhile since I last posted and I'd like to apologize for that. I was travelling to see family over spring break, and ended up getting stuck here for the past five weeks or so. The environment has not been conducive for long writing sessions like I am prone to back home. In short, it is very loud here, and hard to concentrate. This story has not been abandoned, nor will it ever be, I promise you that, though I am uncertain on when updates will come. Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy.

House Frey began as a petty lord with a small spit of land on the Green Fork, and was never expected to amount to much. The first Lord Frey built a rickety wooden bridge over the narrowest portion of the Green Fork, then began to rebuild it in stone. His grandson saw the stone bridge to completion, then rose two wooden keeps on each bank of the river. The Freys began to gain wealth, as they charged a heavy toll to any who wished to cross, and with wealth came power. By the time Walder took over as the head of House Frey, they were already one of House Tully's most powerful bannermen, and he further grew that power.

The Freys could field four thousand men, and Jon needed them more than he cared to admit, but Lord Walder wanted one of the few things that he was not willing to grant; a marriage pact. Jon had to figure out how to get Robb past the Twins without giving the Freys what they sought. Lord Walder was envious and ill-tempered, and prone to take insult in the slightest things. Any refusal would likely be taken as a slight against his House, and Walder was known to hold grudges longer than most men lived.

Jon rose from the hard ground, anxious and in need of fresh air. He needed to think, and even the small sounds of their encampment seemed deafening in his ears. They had made camp in a clearing a few days off the kingsroad. Jon wanted to avoid the Twins, but Walder requested to meet him on the way south, leaving him with little option other than to accept.

The forest around them was filled with huge green pines and massive oaks, much like the wolfswood. It made him miss the North . . . his home. He had expected that the lands south of the Neck would look different, but it only felt different. The air was warmer in the south, and it stunk of ambition and greed. A scent that Jon had come to hate after the whiff he received in Winterfell.

Jon walked until he was well away from the clearing and sat down against an oak tree. His Kingsguard would chastise him when he returned, but he could not find it in him to care. _A king should not wander off alone. There are dangers, especially when we think ourselves safe_, Barristan would say, and Arthur would nod his agreement. They were right, of course, only a fool wandered into the woods without even taking a sword, but he needed the quiet and his sword was a hindrance.

A stream could be heard nearby, its waters bubbling and splashing as it flowed around bends and over rocks. He idly wondered if the stream connected with the Green Fork, and if it was large enough to drink from, or if it was little more than a trickle. Jon leaned his head back and let his eyes fall shut, his mind soothed.

_Snap!_

His eyes shot open in an instant and scanned the woods around him. The sound had been faint, as if from far off, or mayhap it just seemed that way. Jon looked up and saw that the first few rays of sunlight were streaming through the treetops. _How long was I asleep?_ Several moments passed before he leaned back and relaxed once more. _Stop being paranoid, it was only a branch._

"_Jon_!" The voice echoed through the trees, startling the birds above, and it sounded familiar.

"_Your Grace_!" a different voice shouted, a few moments after the first.

Jon stood and brushed the dirt off his breeches. It would seem that even a moment's peace was too much to ask for a king. "I'm here," he called back. He sighed and stretched, waking his sleeping limbs. An hour of sleep on the ground, leaning against a tree, left him feeling better rested than he had in several moons, even more so than sleeping in his bed at Winterfell.

The voices could be heard again, fainter than before, but closer, then Ghost padded out from behind a tree. The direwolf stopped and peered at Jon, who fell to his knees and patted his thighs. "Come here, Ghost, it's me."

Ghost wagged his tail and went to Jon, bumping his head into his shoulder, almost knocking him down.

Jon affectionately rubbed his direwolf behind the ears. "Where in seven hells?" he asked, relieved. Ghost went off to hunt the day before they reached the Neck, and had yet to be seen since. Jon feared that he may have decided to remain in the North. With each passing day, his fears seemed to grow closer to the truth. Seeing Grey Wind at Robb's side each day only made him feel worse, though he never gave voice to such things. It wasn't Robb's fault, nor was it Grey Wind's.

Jon looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps, and saw two men drawing near. One he recognized immediately as Ser Barristan, for his white cloak was about his shoulders. The other wore a surcoat bearing the two blue towers of Frey, but the sunlight drifting through the trees cast shadows across his face.

"Are you alright?" Ser Barristan asked, a disapproving look on his face.

"Is there a reason I shouldn't be?"

"You've been gone for several hours, Your Grace," the man of Frey replied, stepping forward. Light brown hair and a pair of hazel eyes ringed by smile lines appeared from amongst the shadows. Ser Perwyn Frey still looked akin to a weasel, but his features were far less hard-set than those of his kin, and he was more jovial by half.

"It can't be true," said Jon, "I was barely gone an hour . . ."

"I'm afraid it is," Ser Perwyn said. "It was an hour or so before dawn when you woke. I was keeping watch by the fire. I figured you were going off to make water and wouldn't appreciate being bothered, but you kept going deeper into the forest. When the sun dawned and you still had not returned, I woke your Kingsguard and informed them."

Jon managed to keep himself from reacting to Perwyn’s words. "Thank you for assisting in the search, ser."

"Think nothing of it, Your Grace, though your wolf should be the one receiving thanks, not I. He very nearly trampled me getting our attention, then led us straight to you. I helped very little."

Jon smiled. "I will bear that in mind. Would you allow me a moment to speak with my Lord Commander?"

Ser Perwyn nodded and walked back the way he had come.

"How many are searching for me, Barristan?"

"Arthur is with Lord Stark, and Robb is with Dacey Mormont. The rest don't know, though it is not like to remain so for long. Jon . . ."

Jon stood and ran a hand through his hair. "I know what I swore, and I'm sorry. I should've woken one of you, but I needed to think. There is too much at stake for me to fail at the Twins, and I haven't the first clue what to do."

"What is your council for, if not to give counsel?"

"And what have we done?" Jon asked, his frustration mounting. "We plan and plan, but each night we have fewer solutions than the night before. I shouldn't even have to bloody go to the Twins. I'll never grant the damned betrothal, as I made clear to Ser Stevron in Winterfell, yet the man insists to see me. With each passing day, my enemies grow stronger while I have to barter with the likes of Walder Frey. How am I supposed to win a war like this?"

"Your fears are my own, Your Grace."

"Are they, Barristan?" Jon questioned harshly. "My words today may well lose us the Freys . . . how could you possibly understand that? You and Arthur need only to make sure a man crippled with gout doesn't kill me.

Barristan laid a hand on Jon's shoulder, yet said nothing.

Perhaps it was the quiet that made him feel remorse, or that it had been the heat of the moment, and now he realized what he had said. "I'm sorry . . . I know you and Arthur both do much to help me. It's this war . . . we're losing . . ."

Barristan smiled reassuringly. "It’s alright, Jon. I understand the need to be alone, better than you may think, and you have better reason than most to need such. Next time though . . . let one of us know, so there's no need to come crashing through the woods after you."

"I think I may be able to help with that," a voice said. Ser Perwyn stepped out from behind a tree, grinning like a fool.

Barristan rounded on the man and drew his sword. "What are you doing here?" he demanded. "You were ordered to return to camp."

Perwyn raised his hands, yet his grin remained. "Your words wound me so, Ser Barristan. After our chat in the woods, I thought us friends."

"Were you not spying on me?" Jon asked.

Perwyn chuckled. "Oh no, Your Grace, I was spying on you, I shan't deny it. Perchance you could find it in you to forgive me if I helped outwit my father."

"Spying on the king is treason." Barristan advanced on the knight of Frey, leveling his sword with the man's heart. The first hint of doubt appeared on Perwyn’s normally jovial face as his smile fell away.

"Wait," said Jon.

Barristan turned back, confusion written in every line of his face. "Wait?"

"Yes, I would hear what he has to say." Barristan nodded and sheathed his sword. "You had best pray you tell a convincing story, Perwyn, elsewise . . ."

"I will need to do no convincing of my own, Your Grace. The words will take care of the necessary convincing for me."

Jon laid a hand atop Ghost's head, taking patience from his companion. "Pleasantries will do you no favors here, ser. Speak the words, and I will decide the merit of them on my own."

Perwyn nodded once. "As you say, my king. I have known of your problem for a long while now, and I know my father. He has the leverage to press for a betrothal, and he knows it. It would seem to me, in my own humble opinion, of course, that what you need is some leverage of your own. It would have to be greatly humiliating though . . . a great shame to House Frey and its lord."

"What did you have in mind?"

Perwyn smile reappeared. "As I said, it would have to bring great shame to House Frey . . . if one of Lord Walder's sons were to attack the king . . ."

Jon rubbed his chin. "And why would one of Lord Walder's sons do such a thing?"

"May I speak plainly, Your Grace?"

"I'd prefer that you did."

"My father is a vain and greedy man, and if he continues on this path he will bring the Freys to ruin."

"Continue, Ser Perwyn," Jon prompted. "You speak the truth, but that does not tell me why you would want to act against your father's goals."

"Stevron is the heir to the Twins, and rather feeble besides. He is a good man at heart, but he is a puppet, and is just praying to live long enough to see himself sit our father's seat. I am my lord father's fifteenth son, and much farther down the line of succession. There is no chance I will become lord, and yet I am grateful, for it allows me to see clearly. Doing this, I will be protecting my father from himself and ensuring our House has a future."

"What is that you want from this, Perwyn? Not for House Frey, but for yourself. Gold? A good marriage?"

Perwyn's smile was blindingly cocky. "I want nothing more than to serve you, my king. Gold runs out eventually, and by my estimate you don't have much of it to begin with. And as for a wife, if I sought one, Father would have had it done years ago. I have been a fighter since birth, and there has never been a reason to settle down. My brothers can squirt more than enough Walders and Waldas into their wives without my assistance in the matter."

"If I were to accept this plan, how would we proceed?"

Barristan looked to him, his objection all but certain, but Jon just shook his head.

"Well you see, Your Grace, saying I attacked you would not do for my lord father. The evidence needs to be undisputable . . . a single hit to the face could do it, but a couple would be more believable . . ."

Barristan stepped in front of Jon. "That will never happen."

"Barristan," Jon hesitantly began. "We have to do this . . . I have to do this."

"There has to be another way, this . . . this is dishonorable."

"What way?" Jon asked, irritated. He didn't want to do this, but if it outmaneuvered Walder Frey then it would be worth it.

Barristan said nothing.

"As I thought, this is not something I want, but what choice do we have?" He let the question hang in the air and turned back to Ser Perwyn. "Approach and attack me, Ser Perwyn, your king commands it, but . . . umm, be careful where you hit. I rather like my teeth and would be angered if I lost any."

Perwyn smiled and nodded, approaching Jon.

Barristan did not step aside, nor did he stop Ser Perwyn from moving past. He just _watched_, silent as the grave, his disapproval plain to all yet left unspoken.

"Are you ready, Your Grace?" Perwyn asked.

Jon knelt beside Ghost to look him in the eyes. "Ghost," he said, rubbing the side of the direwolf's face. "This man is going to hit me. I know that you will want to protect me, but you must not. He will not harm me."

Ghost turned and lumbered off a few feet, then laid down on the forest floor, resting his head on his front paws.

Jon stood and turned back to Ser Perwyn. "I'm ready."

He never saw the first blow coming, but he felt the pain of it blossom across his cheek. It was quickly followed by another to the forehead that sent Jon to his knees. He had no time to catch his breath as Perwyn was on him in an instant. A third blow took him in the ear, setting his head to ringing.

A thump echoed through the trees as something hit the ground beside him.

Jon did not remember closing his eyes, but when he opened them, Barristan was standing before him, offering a hand up. He accepted it graciously and with the help of Ser Barristan, slowly rose to his feet. His head was pounding something fierce and his breaths came rough and ragged. He rubbed a hand against the side of his face and it came away bloody.

"What happened?" Jon asked. He was sure he had not imagined the sound of something falling beside him. When he looked to where he had laid moments before, he saw Ser Perwyn sprawled face first in the dirt, unmoving.

"He's not dead," Ser Barristan assured, sheathing his sword.

"Why would you do that, Barristan? He was only doing as I asked."

Barristan shrugged. "If Perwyn is as loyal as he claims, then he will understand that he could not be seen walking back into camp with us, not after he had attacked you."

"So what now?" Jon asked. "Do we wait for him to wake?" He rubbed at his aching head. Perwyn hadn't pulled his punches, that was for certain.

Barristan shifted his sword belt and shook his head. "No, Your Grace, elsewise I may as well have not knocked him out at all. I'll carry him back to camp."

"I'll help." Jon moved to grab Perwyn by the underarms, but a fresh wave of pain struck him, and he barely managed to keep a scream from escaping.

"I think not, you need to rest. Perwyn got a little carried away, it would seem."

"I noticed," Jon ground out. He laid a hand against the side of his head. His hand felt warm and wet and when he removed it, fresh blood trickled from his fingers. Jon cursed and slowly moved to the stream he had heard earlier. It was more dirt than water, but he was able to wash the blood from his ear.

When he returned to Barristan, Ser Perwyn was already over his shoulder. If the knight had any trouble carrying the man, he showed no sign of it.

Ghost rose from where he had been laying, padded over to Jon, and licked his hand once before running off into the woods.

"Jon," Barristan called, breaking him from his stupor, "we had best get back."

After a few minutes of silently walking through the woods, curiosity got the best of him. "Barristan, do you believe a word of what Perwyn said back there?"

Barristan stilled, shifting Perwyn on his shoulder, and looked at Jon. "Do you?"

"No," Jon answered without hesitation.

"Good. Perwyn wants something, and he will ask it of you sooner rather than later."

Jon rubbed at his head, hoping it would stop aching. "So long as he doesn't want to wed me, I'll probably grant it."

The others had already returned to camp by the time they entered the clearing. Most of their escort was already mounted and forming into riding order. Arthur and Lord Stark noticed him immediately and came rushing over. Arthur grabbed Jon by the sides of the face, making him wince, and gently prodded at the bruises. "What the hell happened to you?" he asked, concern and annoyance in his voice, a strange mix by any means.

Jon pushed his arms away. "I'm fine, Arthur, really."

Lord Stark looked past him at Barristan. "Is that Perwyn? What happened, Jon?"

"Perwyn attacked me in the woods, and Barristan stopped him." The lie came easier than Jon expected it would. _Good_, Jon thought, if tales of Walder were true, he would see straight through a bad one.

"Why would he attack you?"

"I don't know, my lord, you can ask him when he wakes. If you would, can you help Barristan get him on his horse? See that he is bound. We can't afford him the chance to attack me again."

Lord Stark watched him for a few moments before he nodded and followed Barristan.

"Now," said Arthur, "what really happened in those woods."

"It was Perwyn's idea, in truth, a way for me to gain leverage over his father."

Arthur seemed taken aback. "_Truly_? Why he would do such a thing?"

Jon smirked. "To serve his king . . ." He left him there and mounted his horse.

Jon and Robb dismounted on a hill within sight of the Twins. Each day, Jon had rode with a different lord or lady, to ensure that he got to know them. Knowing the men and women who would be fighting for him was important to Jon. Today though, being that he would be parting with Robb, he had chosen to ride with his cousin.

"Quite the sight, isn't it?" Robb questioned.

"It is rather-"

"-Ugly?"

"Formidable, I was going to say formidable."

"Sure you were," Robb japed.

"Are you ready, brother?"

Robb snorted. "To go to war? Any man who said he is ready for war is a fool, but I am ready to do what I must. The Lannisters cannot remain in power, Jon, I doubt I need to tell you of that."

Jon nodded, then a smile broke out across his face. "That was a grand speech, but that wasn't what I was asking. Are you ready for your part at the Twins?"

"Yes, why wouldn't I be?"

"Well . . . I know that last time you passed through the Twins, you made a friend." Robb's cheeks colored and he turned his head, so Jon continued, "Alyx, I believe her name was. I was told you were quite . . . _friendly_, with her. A granddaughter of Lord Walder's, surely you must remember her."

Robb's head whipped back around, his cheeks a bright red, but a smile on his face. "Dacey told you, didn't she?" He didn't wait for Jon's reply. "You have been spending quite a bit of time with her since Winterfell. Need I worry about you and her?"

Jon chuckled, but there was little mirth to it. "There is little chance of that."

"I'm sorry, Jon, I didn't mean offence."

Jon managed a weak smile. "I know, brother, it was a good jest." He took a deep breath. "You know what I'm prepared to do to secure the Vale."

"Aye, and if what I've heard is true, it is a greater sacrifice than most would be willing to make." Robb laid a hand on Jon's shoulder. "It won't come to that."

"I'm going to miss you, Robb. It feels like we've only just reunited, and already we must part once more."

Robb wrapped Jon in a tight embrace. "And I you."

"Save some Lannisters for me," Jon said, stepping away at the sound of horses approaching.

Robb smiled. "There will be plenty enough to go around, I think. Now, don't partake of too many feasts, the rounder your belly, the more apt you'll be to fall on your fat head."

"It certainly would be a death for the history books," said Jon, chuckling.

"Your Grace," a voice called, "we were sent to escort you to the Great Hall." Two men in grey woolen doublets dismounted their horses and approached.

"I had wondered when our absences would be noticed. I apologize if I don't recognize you, but Lord Walder has many sons," Jon said.

One of them laughed loudly, spittle flying from his mouth, while the other remained silent. "There are many of us, I shan't hold it against you, Your Grace. I am Ser Aenys of House Frey, and this is my brother, Ser Raymund."

Jon gave each of their hands a firm shake. "Well met, sers, I assume our party has ridden on ahead."

Yes, Your Grace," Ser Aenys replied, "they are entering the Twins as we speak. Might I just add that it is an honor to meet a Targaryen. I named two of my sons after your kin, Aegon and Rhaegar."

Jon fought to keep the sneer from his voice. "You do my House a great honor, ser, but we had best not keep your lord father waiting any longer. I have heard he is not the most patient of men."

"No, he most certainly is not," Ser Aenys agreed, chuckling.

The men returned to their horses and mounted, yet remained nearby.

"It is time, brother," Jon said, feeling melancholy.

"Aye, it won't be long though, then we'll be feasting in King's Landing, and you'll be bored by all those lords."

Jon huffed out a laugh. "Don't remind me . . . soon."

"Soon," Robb affirmed, nodding.

Jon mounted his horse, smirking at Robb as he did the same, then drove his heels into the horse's flanks. He whisked past the Freys, laughing at the shocked expressions on their faces. Robb was closing fast, but it mattered not. There wasn't going to be a chance to race his cousin for some time, if ever again, and he was intent to enjoy it.

"You're slower than I remember," Robb shouted, drawing level with him.

Jon laughed and spurred his horse on, but Robb continued gaining ground.

Robb reined up just inside the castle gates and turned back, a large grin on his face. "I win," he stated triumphantly.

"We were racing?" Jon asked innocently, dismounting. "I didn't know, brother, if I had-"

"You would still have lost," Robb finished.

He shrugged and handed the reins to a groom. Elmar Frey approached, holding Jon's crown as if it were on fire. Jon took it from him and donned it, the weight of it still feeling strange atop his head. "Thank you, Elmar."

"Are you sure you won't need me in there?" Robb asked, concern edging into his voice.

Jon shook his head. "Go, before Walder demands your presence."

Robb nodded solemnly. "Good fortune to you, brother."

"Who needs fortune, when I have the Young Wolf fighting for me," Jon drawled animatedly. He turned and followed Elmar briskly away. Any longer in the presence of Robb and he may have decided to accompany him to Riverrun. Seeing Arya would have made it impossible to continue with his duty. They had been parted once before, when Jon left for the Watch, but this time stung all the more.

Walder was not present in the Great Hall as of yet, but many of his kin were. His daughters and granddaughters were foremost among them, no doubt by Walder's design. They stared at him openly . . . and _hungrily_. It was not the sort of hunger that could be staved off with food.

Jon stood before the high table, flanked on either side by Arthur and Barristan, respectively, avoiding the Frey women's gazes as best he could. It was bad enough that he must come here, but Lord Walder wanted to make him wait as well. It infuriated him.

"They are swooning for you, Your Grace," Arthur whispered.

"They are swooning for the queen's crown their father promised," Jon shot back.

Arthur stifled a chuckle. "So you say, but I know a look of lust when I see it."

The door behind the high seat swung open, cutting off Jon's retort. Lord Walder was carried in on a cushioned litter, and he looked every bit as ugly as Robb had said. The man's smile was just as hungry as that of his kin, maybe even more so. The eighth Lady Frey, a pale wisp of a girl no more than sixteen namedays, walked beside the litter.

"So you're the Targaryen everyone's pissing about?" Walder looked him up and down. "You don't look like much."

"I could say the same of you, yet power is not always plain to see."

"You've got a sharp tongue on you, boy, I respect that. Aenys, Raymund, help me to my chair."

The two men shifted Lord Walder from the litter, carrying him as if he weighed nothing more than a feather, and sat him in the high seat of the Freys. It was a tall chair of black oak, shaped like two towers linked by a bridge, and Walder looked a small child in it. Walder's wife crept up beside him and laid a blanket across his legs.

Walder's beady eyes looked about the room. Seemingly dissatisfied, he scowled and clenched a fist. "Where's my wolf?"

"Robb Stark has continued on to Riverrun, Father," answered Ser Stevron.

"Trying to avoid me, is he?"

"No, my lord, nothing of the sort. With each passing day, Tywin Lannister shores up his defenses. For my plan to work it requires speed, and I saw no reason for my cousin to stop. He has already met with you, has he not?"

Walder watched Jon steadily for several moments. "He has," he said at last. "What happened to your face, _heh?_ Walk into a tree?"

Jon’s smile was filled with ice. "Oh, yes, a rather large tree at that, and it has a name."

Walder chuckled, the loose skin beneath his chin trembling. "You northerners and your trees, _heh_. Tell me, what name did this tree bear?"

"Bring him in."

The massive oaken doors of the Great Hall swung open. Two guards marched in, a bound Ser Perwyn stumbling along between them. The guards deposited him on the ground before his father.

"What is the meaning of this?" Walder Frey demanded. "You dare drag my son in here, bound and gagged. The nerve of you, boy."

"I am no boy, Walder, and you would do well to remember it. I am a man grown and a king . . . your king. This morn, your son attacked me in the woods. I spared his life out of respect for you, and you dare to insult _me_."

Walder's eyes glanced about the room anxiously, before they finally focused on his eldest son. "Is this true?"

"Yes, Father, Perwyn admitted it to me."

"Remove his gag, I would hear it from him."

Stevron did as he was bid, helping his brother to his knees and removing the gag from his mouth.

Perwyn cast his eyes to the floor, unable to meet his father's steely gaze. "I did it, Father."

Walder slammed a fist on the table, giving a number of his kin a start. "Why would you do something so damned stupid, _boy_? On second thought, don't answer that, you've said enough. What do you want from this, Your Grace?"

"Nothing more than an assurance that it won't happen again."

"Save your horseshit for someone stupider. You didn't spare his life out of respect."

"I did, and I want nothing more than what I have already asked for." Jon kept his tone respectful, yet inside he was ready to leap across the table and strangle the life from Lord Frey. The thought sickened him, yet it was there all the same.

"An assurance, _heh_. Fine, fine, you'll have it. Perwyn will remain here at the Twins, far from where he can harm you again."

"No, that won't do. He will accompany me to the Vale, as planned. If this happens again, I will take it as an attack on behalf of your House, and react accordingly."

Walder pursed his lips. "Is that the way of it?"

Jon nodded curtly.

"You kings . . . with your crowns and false courtesies. You're the fourth I've hosted in my life, did you know? Some of them were your own kin, though they looked like proper Targaryens, unlike yourself."

"Is there a point to this, Lord Walder? Other than to point out that I didn't inherit my father's hair, that is. We have a war to win."

Walder Frey lifted his gnarled hands in mock surrender. "So impatient, this one. My son will continue with you to the Vale, as agreed. He'll be a proper knight and honor the name Frey. Isn't that right, Perwyn?"

Perwyn bobbed his head up and down profusely. "Yes, Father, I will. I'm sorry, Your Grace, it won't happen again, I swear it."

Walder's eyes turned cold. "Good, because if this happens again, I'll have you executed myself. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, Father," Ser Perwyn said, his eyes glancing around the room, avoiding his father's eyes.

"_Look at me_!" Lord Walder's voice cracked like a whip, and Perwyn flinched as if it had struck true. "Fuck up again, and it'll be your head. Do you understand me, _boy_?"

"Yes, Father, I understand you well."

"Good, now get out of my sight, you ungrateful wretch. You're giving my stomach a turn." Lord Walder's eyes shifted, as if he just remembered Jon's presence in the hall. "By your leave, Your Grace, of course."

Jon nodded once, yet remained silent.

Once Arthur had cut his binds, Perwyn staggered to his feet and quickly fled the hall.

"Now, let us speak of more pleasant things," Lord Walder said, sweeping a hand toward Jon's Kingsguard. "So the tales are true, the Sword in the Morning yet lives, Barristan the Bold rides at your side. Bet none of them other kings have knights like them."

"They honor me with their faith in my ability as king, my lord."

"Yes, yes, you never lack for honor with these two about. What of your crown? It looks rather drear."

"My father gave it to me," Jon replied simply.

"Your father, _heh_. Just how many dead men do you have in your ranks?"

Jon went rigid and looked to his Kingsguard, though they could offer no support without making him look weak. _Be strong_, Jon told himself repeatedly. "My father fell on the Trident. This was to be his crown when he sat the throne. Lord Stark found it at the tower with my mother, and hid it away at Winterfell until recently. It was forged for King Maekar Targaryen. The hour grows late, my lord. I must take my leave."

"What's with the hurry? Stay a night or two at the Twins and rest, I'm sure it's been a hard ride. I'll show you the true hospitality of a Frey, and remove the ill taste my idiot son has left in your mouth."

"I thank you, my lord, but I must decline. Just as my cousin, I must be quick if I am to beat my enemies."

Lord Walder's smile wilted and fell away. Something changed in the old man's eyes. Jon could not place what it was, but it worried him. "Go on then, best leave before the sun sets. You kings are too costly to host anyhow, _heh_."

"You did well," Arthur said as they left the hall.

A pair of footsteps followed closely behind them, yet Jon tried to ignore them. It was likely just a servant going about their duties. A hand lightly grasped his elbow, pulling his arm backwards. Jon whipped around and tore his arm free, unsure what to do.

The girl shrieked and shrunk away, covering her face as if he were going to strike her.

Jon waved off the knights, who had drawn their swords, and approached the frightened girl. He gently laid a hand on her arm, attempting to reassure her. "I'm sorry, my lady, you gave me a start."

The girl slowly uncovered her face and wiped at her eyes. She was young and pretty, and not much older than Jon. "It's my fault, Your Grace, I should have announced myself. Grandfather is always saying how stupid I am, perhaps he is right."

"Who is your grandfather?"

"Lord Walder," the girl answered timidly. There was a sadness in her eyes that Jon couldn't help but pity. "My name is Alyx Frey."

"Ah," was all Jon could manage at that moment. This was the girl that had almost seduced Robb, and that Jon had teased him about not long ago. He could see why Robb had come so close to succumbing. "What can I do for you, my lady?"

"Lord Robb . . . your cousin . . . I was hoping you could give him a message for me."

"I'm sorry, my lady, but by now he is south of the Twins.

"Oh." Alyx turned away, crestfallen, and began to leave.

"Wait," Jon called, curiosity getting the best of him. "What is the message, if you don't mind my asking?"

"I wanted him to know that even though it was my grandfather that sent me to him, I really do like him." Alyx's cheeks colored a rosy pink, softening her features.

Jon smiled warmly. "The next time I see Robb, I will let him know. You have my word."

"Thank you, Your Grace."

Jon waited until the girl was far gone before he let out the laughter he had been holding in. It washed over him in waves, and he almost regretted sending Robb on. There was no price Jon would not have paid to see Robb's reaction to the girl's words.

Arthur tapped him on the shoulder, grabbing his attention. "I would prefer we didn't linger here."

"Me either," Jon agreed.

Once in the courtyard, Jon could breathe much easier. He took the reins from the waiting groom and mounted, ready to be gone from the Twins.

"How did it go?" Lord Stark asked, riding over to him.

"Not well, but I'm not betrothed, so there's that."

Lord Stark nodded solemnly. "Are you ready?"

"To leave the Twins? More than you could possibly know. To meet with Lysa Arryn? I'm not sure I'll ever be ready for that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is having a great Sunday, and that everyone is staying safe with all the craziness going on. The next chapter will be Tyrion IV :)


	22. Tyrion IV

"I apologize for rousing you from your bed, Grand Maester." The sun would not dawn for some time, but when work needed to be done, Tyrion cared very little for the hour.

Pycelle sat down across from him and beckoned his serving girl forward. "It is no trouble, my lord. Truth be told, I rose some time ago, but had yet to dress when you came calling."

"I should thank you for making me wait then. I do not think it would have been appropriate to meet in your smallclothes, and if you had . . . well, I might have been tempted to do likewise. Mayhap at my next meeting with Cersei I shall."

Pycelle chuckled. "I'm sure our dear Queen Regent would be most appreciative of your attire, my lord."

His girl served them boiled eggs, brown bread, and porridge. The Grand Maester swept a hand over the table and held his chin up pompously. "In such trying times, when so many hunger, I find it only right to keep my table spare. I could have her bring something else if this is not to your liking."

Tyrion waved him off. "I respect you for your sacrifice, but I must disagree with the sentiment. I eat what food I can, for who can tell if it will still be there on the morrow." He spooned some porridge into his mouth and struggled not to gag. He set his spoon aside. It badly wanted for butter and honey. "Now, tell me, are the ravens early-risers like yourself?"

"To be sure, my lord. Shall I send for a quill and ink after we have finished our meal?"

Tyrion pulled two scrolls from his sleeve, tightly rolled and sealed with wax on both ends, and laid them on the table. "There is no need, Grand Maester, I prepared them before I came. I had no wish to trouble you any longer than I must."

"I thank you, but you should not worry yourself with such things. I will see to them as soon as we are finished here."

Tyrion cracked an egg and smiled crookedly. "I would prefer them to be dispatched immediately. The realm teeters on a knife's edge, and I would see it fall in our favor, as I am sure you can understand. The food will keep."

"Indeed it will," Pycelle replied, though he looked rather put out. "Where should I dispatch them to?"

"Send your girl away, so that we may speak."

"Leave us," Pycelle commanded. The girl hurried from the room. "Now, these ravens-"

"-Are for the eyes of Doran Martell, Prince of Dorne."

Pycelle's eyes shot open at the mention of such a ripe secret. "Ah, the Prince of Dorne. The man is not one who loves your family well. What business do you have with him, my lord?"

"None that concerns you, I'm afraid. Now, Grand Maester, if it please you, this matter truly is urgent."

Pycelle rose slowly from his chair and nodded, then left the room.

Tyrion finished his egg, ate part of the loaf of brown bread, and had cracked a second egg when he heard the first raven fly. He climbed out of his seat, dragged it over to a heavy oaken shelf, and set it up against it.

To the Grand Maester's credit, he was well organized and each bottle was labelled with its contents. Tyrion searched through the bottles, pushing aside several rather nasty poisons until he found the one he sought, hidden away behind a bottle of sweetsleep. He read the label, smiled, and slipped it up his sleeve. By the time Pycelle returned, no one could have guessed that Tyrion had even left his seat.

The Grand Maester retook his seat and spooned some porridge into his bowl, avoiding Tyrion's gaze.

"So, it is done then?" Tyrion asked.

"Yes, my lord, it is done."

Tyrion took a bite of his egg. It wanted salt. "Very good, though, I'm afraid I must make another request of you."

Pycelle glared at him, clearly affronted, but began to rise all the same.

Tyrion chuckled. "Please sit, you are making me feel short. This is a rather simple request, and it need not be done for some time."

"Ah, my mistake. How can I be of assistance?"

"When Prince Doran's reply comes, it must come straight to me. The king and my sister cannot know of it."

"But . . . he is the king."

Tyrion sighed. "I thought a learned man such as yourself would see the logic behind my request, but no matter, I will explain it to you. The Hand speaks with the king's voice, and must look after the king's best interests, even when the king is not. Surely there were times when even Jon Arryn had to do things behind Robert's back, to ensure his continued safety. This is one of those times, Grand Maester."

Pycelle stroked his flowing white beard. "I suppose, but your sister-"

"-Has enough weight resting upon her perfect white shoulders, wouldn't you agree? She oft takes on so much that I find it hard to keep up. I would rather take care of this one small thing myself, and allow her to focus on her own work."

Pycelle watched him suspiciously. "Perhaps if I knew what this business was, it would set my mind at ease."

Tyrion held the Grand Maester's gaze. His mismatched green and black eyes had a way of unnerving even the most courageous of men, and he put them to good use. "That is not a reassurance I can provide. If it helps, I give you my word that this matter does not require your concern, nor my sister's."

Pycelle looked down at his porridge, as if he were a hound being admonished. "Yes, my lord, I will do as you say."

"Good," Tyrion said, wiping his mouth and getting up from his chair. _One_.

Tyrion made his way out into the lower bailey. The sun was rising and the keep was stirring. Gold cloaks walked the walls, and knights and men-at-arms hacked away at each other with blunted weapons in the yard. Many of them were barely old enough to be considered men, and only a handful had ever been in a real fight.

It was painful being a dwarf . . . a fact further drove home when he saw how the girls gawked at Bronn. Even now, as the man leaned against the lip of a well, two serving girls sauntered past trying to draw his gaze to them, but Bronn paid more attention to the fly buzzing about his head.

"I envy you."

Bronn snorted out a laugh. "Why?"

Tyrion sighed, exasperated, and shook his head. "Did you even notice the two girls go past?"

Bronn grinned insolently. "Which two would that be? There were several, and I paid each no more attention than the last."

"I despise you, do you know that?"

"I thought you envied me?"

Tyrion rubbed at his forehead, attempting to drive away the growing ache. "Do shut up. What supplicants do I have to deal with today?"

"Near thirty, and each of them with a complaint or a request. Some have both." Bronn looked past him and smirked. "Well here comes one now."

"Lord Tyrion," Lady Tanda Stokeworth called.

Tyrion grimaced, but made sure it was gone when he turned. The Stokeworths remained steadfast in their loyalty to the Lannisters, and supplied a large portion of the food coming into the Red Keep.

"Lord Tyrion," Lady Tanda repeated, "I thought that was you." Somehow Lady Tanda had gotten the notion that a dwarf lordling would make the perfect consort for her feeble daughter Lollys. She never asked for a betrothal, _no_ . . . _that_ would be too forward of her. Instead, she sought to ply him with wild boar and stuffed goose, and more wine than Tyrion could drink in two lifetimes.

Tyrion smiled as best he could, though it likely only made him look more grotesque. "It was either me or a child, my lady, an easy guess, if I must say."

Lady Tanda laughed merrily. "I suppose the odds were in my favor. How do you fare? Your man said that you had taken ill of late."

"I am doing much better, thank you. I actually just got done visiting Grand Maester Pycelle and he has me feeling good as new."

"That is splendid news, my lord, splendid news indeed. I prayed to the Mother each day for your recovery, and my heart sings to know that my prayers have been answered. Now that you are feeling better, mayhap you would do me the honor of supping with me this evening. There would not be many there, just Lord Gyles, Lord Baelish, and yourself, should you be able to attend."

Tyrion's ears perked up. "Your daughters will not be there?" A feast did sound nice, if only to serve as a distraction.

Lady Tanda smiled. "Oh, silly me, I had forgotten all about my daughters. Lollys will be there, of course, and Falyse as well. Ser Balman is tending to some poachers on Stokeworth lands, so she is staying with me for the nonce."

Tyrion intertwined his fingers and tapped his thumbs together, doing his best to look saddened. "Would that I could, my lady. It sounds like it will be a wonderful evening, full of good food and even better company, but you see . . . with my illness so newly passed, there is much work left undone. Our dear city must come first, even before my pleasure."

"I understand well, my lord Hand." Lady Tanda Stokeworth hunched down and took one of Tyrion's hands in both of her own. "We have but one capital, and we must defend it. Perhaps some other night?"

Tyrion patted her hand and smiled. "Without a doubt, my lady."

Lady Tanda straightened up and let go of his hands. "I shan't keep you any longer, my lord. Best of luck with your work."

Tyrion was grateful to see her go. "Not a word," he said.

Bronn snorted. "Seems to me you have plenty of ladies gawking at you."

Tyrion ignored that. "What of the other supplicants?"

"There's a baker, says a mob broke into his shop and threw his son in the oven to bake alongside the bread."

"Did they eat the boy?" Tyrion asked, almost fearing the answer.

"Not to my knowledge. The baker wants compensation for his son, and for guards to be placed under his command."

"I will not place gold cloaks in a baker's charge. We provide what protection we can, and that will have to do."

"He claims there were gold cloaks amongst the mob. He wants to go before the king."

Tyrion was half-tempted to let him do just that, though, Joffrey would likely have the baker stuck in the oven with his son. "Tell him he has the king's greatest sympathies, but in these hard times we can spare no additional guards to the Street of Flour. I'll speak with Ser Jacelyn on the morrow about his men. With how quickly the golds cloaks are recruiting, it is of little surprise that some of them are not falling into line as they should. Who else?"

"The girl has sent another of her guards calling after you. Much more subtly, but I caught this one before he reached the keep."

"What _is_ she thinking?" Tyrion kept his voice low, but he could feel his insides beginning to boil.

"She's _not_ thinking. She thinks the danger here is all some grand jest. I've warned you before, and I'll warn you again. Send her away before the queen finds her."

Bronn was right, but Tyrion couldn't bring himself to do it. "She is just restless, Bronn. I won't send her away for that. Varys has a way for me to see her, I'll speak to him soon on it. Anything else of import?"

"A crow sailed down from Castle Black, arrived during the night. He's brought some rotted hand in a jar, and he's demanding an audience with you."

"It's not Yoren, is it?" Once, he would have named the wandering crow a friend. That was before Yoren turned his cloak, but still Tyrion had no wish to take the man's head.

"No, his name was Thorne. Ser Alliser Thorne."

Tyrion was reminded of Thorne's cruel japes and unpleasant demeanor when he had visited the Wall. "Tell him that I am far too busy to see to him today, but that I remember my vow to Lord Commander Mormont, and I will meet with him soon. For the meantime, put him in a chamber where the rushes haven't been changed in a year and let his hand rot a little more."

"Don't like him much, do you?"

Tyrion gave a crooked shrug. "It would be better if he avoided my sister and nephew. They will not be able to tell one crow from another. What of the rest?"

"They are smallfolk, begging for food."

"Send them away with the king's regrets, but there is no food to spare. If we were to give them food, there would be twice that number here on the morrow. I'm returning to my solar. I won't need you to escort me."

They split off from each other at the base of the serpentine steps. Each step sent a jolt of pain lancing through Tyrion's legs. He did his best to keep his mind on other things, such as Shae, but it was difficult. After what felt like an hour, he reached the top and continued on.

Outside his solar, his squire Podrick Payne stood waiting for him. "He's inside," the boy said.

"Who is this he?"

Podrick looked to his boots for the answer, his cheeks flushed a deep red.

"Pod," Tyrion prodded. "Unless you think my boots are in need of shining, I would prefer you looked me in the eyes. Who is inside?"

Podrick looked over Tyrion's head. "Lord Littlefinger." Podrick's cheeks flushed deeper, if that was even possible, and his eyes shot back to the floor. "Lord Petyr, I mean . . . umm, L-L-Lord Baelish, the master of coin."

Tyrion chuckled. "You make the man sound as though he were a crowd, Pod."

"I'm sorry, my lord."

"There is nothing to apologize for." Tyrion pushed open the door and went inside, Podrick following close behind.

Lord Petyr Baelish sat in the window seat, watching something going on in the courtyard below. He wore a plush plum-colored doublet, and a yellow silk cloak hung about his shoulders.

"You look elegant today, Lord Baelish," Tyrion commented.

Littlefinger turned back and flashed his mocking half-smile. "You wound me, my lord. I strive to look elegant _every _day."

Tyrion tipped his head in a slight bow. "No man stands your equal, excepting Renly Baratheon perhaps."

"Well then let us pray that King Joffrey defeats him quickly, I do so hate having men for my equal."

"I've noticed," said Tyrion. "Pod, you may leave us. Unless Lord Baelish would like refreshment?"

"I think not. It is said those who drink with the Imp wake up walking the Wall. Black does queer things to my skin, making it look pale and sickly."

Podrick Payne fled the room, silently mapping each of the grains in the wooden floor as he went.

_Oh, yes, I'm sure it is the color black that makes you look pale and sickly, my lord, not the fact that you are pale and sickly_, Tyrion thought, yet he said, "Are plum and yellow the colors of your House?"

Littlefinger turned back to glance out the window. "No, but a man does tire of wearing the colors each day. Have you noticed all the hares about the keep?"

Tyrion sighed and sat himself in his chair, piled high with plush cushions. "It is hard not to, my lord. My nephew's poor aim with a crossbow has left them running rampant."

"Some advice, Lord Tyrion . . . invest in pots. We will be eating hare thrice daily before long, mark my words."

"Better fare than rats on a skewer." _Even rats are growing to be a delicacy in Flea Bottom._

Littlefinger laughed as if they were old friends. "I suppose, but I much prefer a brace of geese stuffed with mulberries, and perhaps a lamprey pie. Lady Tanda provides a wonderful meal most nights, if one can stomach the presence of her daughters."

"I've yet to find the stomach to attend," said Tyrion.

A fresh wave of laughter hit Littlefinger, but Tyrion did not join him. "It is not Lollys you need to worry about, my lord. She is feeble and dim-witted, and not like to seduce the clothes off a beggar for a gold dragon. Falyse, on the other hand, is an obnoxious prude."

"Is that so?"

"Oh, yes, the worst of them. How her husband must have praised the Seven when reports of those poachers came in. It is little wonder that she is not with child." Littlefinger chuckled and moved to take the seat across from him.

It was then that Tyrion noticed it, laying against Littlefinger's hip in an ornate leather sheathe. _Valyrian steel, with a dragonbone hilt. _It could not have been mere happenstance that he had brought the dagger with him today. Tyrion _needed _to know why, though. "That is an exquisite knife, my lord."

"This," Littlefinger said, almost as if he had forgotten it was there. He drew the knife and held it out for Tyrion's inspection. "Valyrian steel . . . very sharp, but a trifle plain, and I cannot claim it as my own."

"If it is not yours, then whose is it?" Tyrion asked, playing coy.

Littlefinger flipped the knife over and held it out to him, hilt first. "It is yours, my lord. Do you care to have it back?"

Tyrion gave him a searching look. "You must have me mistaken with some other dwarf. I have never seen that dagger in my life, but if it puts your mind at ease, you have my leave to keep it." The man's smile told Tyrion everything he needed to know. _He knows, damn it, he knows . . . and he knows that I know. _

If there was ever a man who armored himself in gold, it would be Petyr Baelish. The man had a talent for taking two gold dragons, loaning them out where he saw fit, and bringing them back accompanied by a third. It was a talent that Tyrion was not sure he could rid himself of, not with the war raging on, even if he dared to do so.

Littlefinger sheathed the dagger. "You really should come to one of Lady Tanda's feasts, my lord. Despite the company, it is a truly good meal. You spend far too much time in this droll tower, and with savages for your only company . . ."

"I'll bear that in mind," Tyrion said dismissively. "You were fostered at Riverrun as a boy, were you not? It is said that you grew close to the Tullys."

"The girls especially."

"How close?"

"When I was a boy, I had both their maidenhoods, is that what you mean by close?"

The lie - Tyrion was almost certain it was a lie - was delivered with such an air of nonchalance that it was hard to discern it as such. Could it be that Lady Catelyn had been the one to lie, to hide the shame of being deflowered before she was wed? A lie springs forth much more freely than a truth, Tyrion had found. It was a constant thorn in his side, even though he lied just as much as the rest of them, if not more so. "I confess, the Tully women do not care for me. I have a proposal . . . perhaps if it were to come from the mouth of a friend, it might not fall on deaf ears."

"You're not planning to trade the Kingslayer for Sansa, are you? If so, than you can find someone else to deliver your terms to Riverrun. Eddard Stark will never consent to trading the Kingslayer for a slip of a girl, even if that girl is his eldest daughter, and Joffrey will never give up his plaything. It is a waste of my time."

"I agree, it would be a waste of your time, and more importantly . . . _mine_. I have other plans in motion for freeing my brother."

Littlefinger shifted in his seat, a strange look in his eye. "Oh, really? Do tell."

"I'd rather not," Tyrion said. "The offer I have in mind is for Lysa Arryn, and is a good deal sweeter than what I plan to give Eddard Stark."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Gifts I give my friends, freely. Jon Arryn's true killer, for one."

That made Littlefinger sit up. "What do you know of Jon Arryn's death?"

Tyrion gave a small chuckle. "Little enough. To be clear, I will find someone for her to throw from the moon door, and you will spin the man to be Jon Arryn's killer. An easy task for a man such as yourself, I am sure."

"Lysa has woes of her own. Wildlings are coming down from the mountains in greater numbers than ever before, and better armed. It takes a score of knights to see supplies safely to the Eyrie."

"A pity," said Tyrion, who had seen them to arms. "With me for a friend, Lady Lysa should find herself without such problems for long. I will even name her appalling whelp the Warden of the East, as his father before him, and may the gods spare us for it. And to seal the deal, I'll give her Myrcella."

Tyrion was pleased to see the genuine surprise in Littlefinger's grey-green eyes. "Your niece?"

"Do you know of another? My offer is sweet, but I require a great deal in return, and it is not negotiable. Lysa and her son will acclaim Joffrey the true king, swear fealty, and-"

"Make war against the Tullys and Starks? Lysa will never lead a host against Riverrun, no matter which old friend asks it of her."

"Nor would I ask her to send a host against her kin. The king has no shortfall of enemies, my lord. I'll use her power to oppose Renly Baratheon, or Stannis should he ever rouse himself from Dragonstone."

"Ah, but what of the Targaryen? There is word he is riding for the Vale, with plans to win their support."

"Why do you think we are speaking now?" Tyrion lied. He was not worried about Jon Targaryen at present. Lysa Arryn would never stir for what little the boy had to offer.

Littlefinger stroked the neat spike of his beard. "Yes, I could sing this song to Lysa." A mischievous glint appeared in his eye, and he leaned forward in his seat. "If I cared to."

Tyrion nodded, yet said nothing. Petyr Baelish was not one to abide long silences, and would not take long in the breaking of one.

"So," Lord Petyr continued, after only a few moments, "what did you have in mind to reward the man who delivers these terms?"

"Harrenhal."

One word, and the hunger appeared in Littlefinger's gaze, as sure as the sun dawned each day. Petyr Baelish was nothing more than lord of a few rocky acres in the Fingers, with little ambition of rising, and here had just been offered one of the ripest fruits in all the Seven Kingdoms. _I have him, _Tyrion knew at once.

"Harrenhal is cursed," Littlefinger stated, attempting to sound bored.

"Then by all means, raze it and build anew. Gods know you'll have plenty of coin. I mean to make you Lord Paramount of the riverlands. The river lords have proven themselves untrustworthy. Let them do service to you as their liege."

"Even the Tullys?"

"If there are any left once I'm through with them."

It was like watching a green boy pick up live steel for the first time. Littlefinger was gleeful, it was plain to see, yet also worried that he may cut himself. "In one stroke, you would make me one of the most powerful lords in all the realm."

"You have served my family well in the matter of succession, despite Joffrey's follies."

"As did Janos Slynt, on whom this same castle of Harrenhal was granted. That man is now on his way to the Wall. I have concerns."

"And why wouldn't you?" asked Tyrion, chuckling. "It is a tricky thing, attempting to reason out my decisions, but allow me to set your mind at ease. I had no _need _for Janos Slynt. I need you to deliver the Vale. It is as simple as that. Do as I have asked and you will be duly rewarded. Fail, and . . ." He let a heavy moment of silence pass, then laughed. "Never mind all that. I have no doubt you will succeed in your task."

"I will," Lord Petyr affirmed. "Even if I must bed her again. What does your sister think of this arrangement?"

Tyrion shrugged, his face impassive.

Littlefinger burst out laughing. "Oh, yes, my lord, you truly are a clever little man."

"I pride myself on it."

"I will conclude my affairs here and arrange to take ship to Gulltown within the fortnight."

"That will do nicely."

His guest rose and stuck out a hand. "It has been a most pleasant morning, Lannister, and profitable . . . for the both of us."

Tyrion took the offered hand and gave it a firm shake, and as he did, he thought, _two._

"Pod," Tyrion called into the hall, a few minutes later.

The boy scurried into the room and fixated his eyes to the floor. "Yes, my lord?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Bring up a flagon of spiced honey wine from the cellar. Then run to the kitchens and have them fix a plate of bread and cheese, the sharper the better. And have them fix you something as well, you are getting skinny. You are a growing boy, Podrick, and lest you want to remain of a height with me, you had better eat."

"Yes, my lord," Pod repeated, though this time it was not a question. He left to carry out his tasks, never once looking up from the floor.

Tyrion sighed and leaned back against the cushions. Lord Varys would make his appearance soon, and there was no need for him to do anything but wait.

An hour later, Varn of the Painted Dogs brought him the word that the pudgy powdered man requested to see him. Tyrion straightened in his seat and brushed the bread crumbs from his doublet, then sent Varn to show the eunuch in.

Varys swept into the room, followed by the scent of oranges that were far past their ripening. "You were most cruel to the Grand Maester, my lord. He only lives to serve, and he despises being left in the dark on a secret."

Tyrion plucked a choice piece of cheese from the platter, red wine veins running deep within it, and popped it in his mouth, taking his time to chew. _Very sharp indeed, _he thought, smiling. "Lord Varys, is that the eunuch attempting to call a man cockless. Do you not also wish to know what I sent to Dorne?"

Varys giggled. "Perhaps my little birds have already told what the raven contains."

Tyrion quirked an eyebrow. "Then why come here?"

"Why, my lord, is it not enough to simply want to spend time in your company?"

"No, especially since I know it to be a lie."

"Fine," Varys sighed. "You have caught me. What did you offer to Prince Doran?"

"Would you care to hazard a guess, Varys?"

"Me?" Varys placed a hand on his chest. "If you insist. Doran Martell has called his banners, but little else. He has an old man's caution, unlike his brother. It is well known the Martells have little cause to love your family, and they seek vengeance for the tragedy of Elia Martell's death."

"Even vengeance is forgotten in favor of a man's ambition, oft as not."

"That is so. But what do you have to offer that could stave off the Martell's thirst for vengeance?"

"Why stave it off?" Tyrion asked. "I've offered to deliver Elia's killer, alive or dead, as they wish. _After_ the war is won, to be sure."

"It is said that Elia Martell screamed out a . . . _particular _name as she died."

"Is a secret still a secret if everyone knows it?" In Casterly Rock, it was well known that Gregor Clegane raped and murdered Elia with the blood of her babe, Aegon, still on his hands, and that Amory Lorch had stabbed little Rhaenys half a hundred times. It was a nightmare that haunted Tyrion several times throughout his youth.

"What would your lord father say about this?"

"My father would be the first to say that the lives of two rabid _dogs _are well worth fifty thousand Dornish spears."

"And if they ask for the lord who gave the command?"

"Robert Baratheon led the rebellion. All commands came from him, in the end."

"Ah," said Varys, "but what of their ambitions?"

"There was a seat left open on the small council by the dismissal of Janos Slynt. I hear that men suffering from gout love a good chair, and Doran Martell will find this one never lacking for cushions."

Varys gingerly tapped his cheek, as if deep in thought. "So, two dogs to slate their vengeance, and a chair for their ambitions. A fine offer, but you may yet need more."

"More?" Tyrion questioned. "There are many who would kill to have a seat on the small council."

"Without a doubt, but what is to guard the Martells from betrayal?"

"Will a Lannister's word not suffice?"

"Not likely, admittedly, though if you were to offer a member of the royal family it would make them feel safe. Princess Myrcella or Prince Tommen, perhaps."

Tyrion huffed, playing up his annoyance. "You know, don't you?"

"Yes, but which one? I must confess, I do not know the contents of your raven, but you can scarcely offer Princess Myrcella to both Lysa Arryn and Doran Martell."

"Remind me never to play a guessing game with you again, Varys. You cheat."

"Tommen is a good boy."

"Yes, and if he is separated from Cersei and Joffrey while he is still young, he may yet grow into a good man."

"And a good king . . . who's nature is so much sweeter, and notably more tractable than his elder brother."

Tyrion poured himself a cup of the spiced honey wine and took a deep drink. "Joffrey is our king."

"Kings are prone to accidents, same as anyone, and sweet Tommen is heir, should anything unfortunate befall His Grace. Just look at our dear King Robert . . . he was rather young, all things considered, and yet he still died a most tragic death."

_Wineskin warriors will do that to a man, especially ones with appetites like Robert's._ "You have a suspicious mind, my lord."

"It is a necessary thing in this city, wouldn't you agree? Speaking of which, how do you plan to deal with Cersei? She may give up Tommen or Myrcella, for the good of the realm, but she would never consent to sending both away."

"Who says that she needs to know what I am up to?"

"It is only a matter of time, I fear. And what then?"

"Then I would know the man that told her to be my certain enemy." _Three_, Tyrion thought as the eunuch giggled, but he also found himself saying, "You once told me there was a way for me to see Shae without being discovered, and I would not hear it. I am of a different mind now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The seeds have been planted, and soon Tyrion will know who he can trust, or trust enough to follow their own self interests lol. Hope everyone is having a good Sunday, and the next chapter will be Arya II :).


	23. Arya II

Riverrun was not what Arya expected at all, though, admittedly, she didn't quite know what to expect. When she was younger, her lady mother told grand stories of her childhood home, of the adventures she had and the games she would play with her siblings. Riverrun always seemed larger than life then; a great fortress of red sandstone, floating on a river bigger than any she had ever seen. But now, looking at it from the northern bank of the Tumblestone, all she could think of was that it was smaller than Winterfell.

Arya gave the reins of her horse a light tug, and rode to her brother further down the shore. She had left early and rode ahead of them . . . but not _far _ahead. The northern lords chattered all around him, but Robb just stared at the castle, a grave look on his face. Something had changed when they departed the Twins, and no matter how hard she pressed, he would not speak on it.

"Where were you?" Robb asked, not looking from the river for even a moment.

"I was just a little ways up the bank, exploring."

Robb glanced at her, then turned back to the river. "Stay close, the boats should be here soon."

"_Fine_," Arya huffed.

"Arya," Robb said, this time holding her gaze as he spoke. He sighed, and for a moment her brother was himself again. "I need you safe, please don't wander off again. Remember your promise to Father."

Arya drew herself up to argue, but then she subsided. She did remember her promise. _Until such a time when the war is won and there is only one king in the realm, you will remain in Riverrun, unless there is a dire need to leave. _Her father made her swear before the heart tree at Winterfell. No oath said before a heart tree could be broken, and anyone that did would bring the wrath of the old gods down upon them.

"I'm going to go speak with Lady Mormont."

Robb nodded, the grave look having returned and her brother gone once more, and looked back out at the river.

Arya turned her horse and went to find the Mormonts. She did not take long in the searching. There were not many women in their party, and the Mormonts were not prone to riding meekly at the back like frail maidens. On their ride south, Maege and Dacey Mormont had become her close companions and confidants. That connection only grew with Jon parting from them and Robb acting so forlorn.

"Lady Arya Stark, we missed you this morn," Dacey Mormont said, her face alight with amusement.

Arya flushed. "I did not go far. I wanted to see Riverrun . . ."

Maege Mormont smiled. ". . . And could not wait until we reached the shore ourselves, no doubt. There is a wildness to you, my lady, one that seems to be shared by Lord Robb."

"Father calls it 'the wolf blood.' He says Aunt Lyanna had a touch of it, and that his brother Brandon had more than that."

"Aye," Dacey agreed, chuckling. "Though, the wolf blood is no match to the bear blood that runs deep within the Mormonts."

Arya tried her best to smile, it was good to be in the company of ladies who did not seek to change her, but she was troubled by her brother's mood. "Lady Maege?"

"Yes?"

Arya bit her lip. "Do you know what's wrong with Robb?"

Maege looked past her at Robb sitting atop his destrier, and frowned at what she saw. "I think I know what is bothering him, my lady."

"What?"

"It is not my place to say. He will be alright, given time, of that you can be certain."

"Why can't you tell me?" Arya questioned, frustrated.

"It is something I was told in confidence, my lady, by your brother. I will not break his confidence, no more than I would break yours."

"I understand," she said, but she didn't, not truly. All Arya wanted to do was help Robb, but no one would even tell her what was wrong. She wished Jon was here, _he _would have gotten through to Robb, even if it meant battering it out of him in a spar.

"_The portcullis is rising_!" one of the guardsmen shouted.

"My lady," Dacey said, "you had best rejoin your brother."

Arya nodded solemnly, and did as Dacey suggested. Her brother pushed a fall of hair from his eyes and straightened in his saddle. He no longer looked grave, only sad. Arya leaned over and grabbed one of his hands. A slight smile came across his face, though he did not look at her.

There were four boats in total, each large enough to comfortably carry six grown men. When the boats reached the shore, grooms leapt out onto the bank and took the reins of their horses. Arya let the groom take her reins and help her down from the saddle, although she did it reluctantly. She had grown close to her horse over the many miles they had shared together, and against her brother's advice, she had even named him Mors, after Queen Nymeria's first spouse.

One of the oarsmen lifted her into the boat, and set her down in the bow. Grey Wind jumped into the boat and one would have thought he was the Stranger come among them, given the oarsmen's reaction. Both watched the direwolf warily, their faces growing increasingly ashen, yet they said nothing. Grey Wind laid down beside her and rested his head on his paws. Robb sat with her in the bow. The Mormonts joined them as well, but they sat in the stern. The men shoved their oars into the soft earth of the bank and pushed them out onto the river.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Robb idly commented.

"Castles aren't meant to be beautiful, stupid," Arya teased.

Robb sighed and dipped a hand into the water, letting his fingers trim the waves as they drifted down the river.

Arya felt bad for teasing him. "I'm sorry, Robb, I didn't mean it. You're not stupid."

Robb pulled his hand up and watched as rivulets of water fell from the tips of his fingers. He shook his hand and smiled sadly. "I should be the one apologizing to you, Arya. I know I've been a little withdrawn since leaving the Twins, and I'm sorry for that."

"A little?" Arya chastised him, gently.

Robb chuckled, and mussed her hair like Jon used to do. She did not even try and shy away from it. "Alright . . . a lot withdrawn, then. There has been so much on my mind of late. When I first rode south I was alone in my command. Mother was the only one I had to help guide me, but she could offer no advice on the ways of war. I no longer felt that loneliness when I was rejoined with Father and Jon. Even Ser Arthur and Ser Barristan were there to help, though to a lesser extent. There was never a decision I had to make alone when I was with them, but _now_ . . . now I'm alone again . . ." Robb's eyes shone with the promise of fresh tears.

Arya reached up and laid a hand against the side of his face. Robb leaned into her touch and let his eyes fall shut, a lone tear falling. "_You're not alone,_" she whispered.

"For now," Robb replied, opening his eyes and looking away.

Arya could not find it in her to argue with him. There was no family going with him to the westerlands, only himself. Robb was going to be alone there, but while he was still here she would make sure he never felt alone. She leaned against his shoulder and felt her eyelids begin to sag.

"Arya," Robb called, rousing her from sleep, "we're here."

Arya peered out through half-lidded eyes, and realized she was laying on Grey Wind. She yawned, sitting up, and rubbed at her eyes. Around her, the greens and browns of the forest had disappeared, and in their place the red of Riverrun's sandstone walls. They were slowly drifting towards a large set of stone stairs. On them stood her mother, Lady Catelyn Stark, beautiful and proper in a red dress and blue woolen mantle. Arya had feared she might never see her again.

"Bring them in," a stocky red-haired man ordered.

Three men descended the steps with hooked poles in hand, and dragged them in. Grey Wind was the first to leave the boat, leaping out onto the steps, startling the men assisting them. Robb climbed into the thigh deep water and lifted Arya by the waist onto the dry steps, ignoring her protests.

A pair of warm, soft arms wrapped around her from the side, and Arya found herself melting into them. "_Mother_," she breathed, her voice soft as the silk dress her mother wore.

"I thought you were . . ." Her mother's voice was shaky, and warm wet tears fell from her eyes onto Arya's cloak.

"I'm alright. Really, Mother, I'm fine . . . promise." She hated how shaky her own voice sounded.

Her mother pulled back to arm's length, and brushed a stray piece of hair from her eyes. "There's someone I'd like for you to meet, Arya." She stepped to the side and pointed at the red-haired man. He was smiling at her. "That is my brother Edmure. He has been wanting to meet you for some time, if that's alright with you."

Arya nodded and climbed the steps, stopping a foot away from the man. He wore a brown doublet with trouts leaping across it in silver thread, and he was still smiling. "Niece," he greeted amiably.

"Uncle," said Arya, though it was almost more of a question than an actual greeting. She had only heard stories of her mother's brother.

"My name is Edmure Tully. You don't need to be frightened, Lady Arya, I won't bite . . . so long as you do the same."

Arya put her hands on her hips and glared at him.

Her uncle snorted back a laugh. "I like you, you have a fire in your eyes like your mother. She never suffered a fool either. Let us hope you are not as serious as her. I do not know if I could survive two of my sister."

She couldn't help but smile at that.

Edmure returned her smile warmly. "Like the sun appearing from amongst the clouds after a rough storm. Tell me, Lady Arya, do you like sweets?"

"Of course I do," Arya said, nodding.

"That's good . . . because I happen to know where to get some of the finest sweets in the Seven Kingdoms."

"Stop trying to corrupt my daughter, Edmure," her mother admonished, coming up the steps with Robb beside her.

Edmure laughed. "I would never corrupt your daughter, Cat. I was merely befriending Riverrun's newest guest."

Her mother placed her hands on hips, raising an eyebrow, and Edmure laughed all the harder for it.

"Oh, yes," he continued, unabashed, "you certainly are Cat's daughter, Lady Arya."

Robb cleared his throat. "Edmure, if we could speak in your solar, there are some things we must discuss."

Her mother looked disappointed. "Surely this can wait an hour, Robb. You've only just got here. I had a meal prepared for your arrival."

Robb wouldn't budge. "I'm sorry, Mother, but this cannot wait."

Edmure spoke up then, in an attempt to break the tension. "Of course we can speak, Robb. We will join you in your chamber once we're through, Cat. It shouldn't take long."

"No," said Robb, shaking his head. "I will need to speak to Walder once we're done. He is to take command of the Frey men accompanying me to the westerlands, and I want to have a discussion with him before we depart. The man has a wanton brutality to him. I didn't care so long as he was only a soldier, but I will expect more of him now."

"Has something happened to Ser Stevron?" her mother asked. "And where is Ser Perwyn? I did not see him with you on the boats."

"Both are in good health, last I heard. They are to accompany Jon to the Vale, to lend credence to his claim, and show that he has the riverlands support. Theon has went with him, to serve as an outrider."

Robb held their mother's gaze, though Arya could not say why.

Edmure shook his head, and seemed almost nervous. "You mean to give Black Walder command of the Frey men?"

"Yes, unless there is some reason I shouldn't?"

"No . . . but he is a hard and cruel man. You have heard what he did at the Whispering Wood."

"I have heard the tales told around the cook fires, yes. Half are like to be false, and the other half are inflated far past the truth of them. It takes a hard, cruel man to lead hard, cruel men, Uncle, and the Freys are no dainty summer maidens."

"What of Lord Walder's other sons that ride with you?" her mother argued. "They may feel slighted by your decision to give to command to a grandson."

"It was Ser Stevron who suggested his grandson, and I took him for his word. Any Frey who chooses to take offense can direct their grievances to Stevron, whenever they see him next. Now, Edmure, shall we?"

Edmure nodded and lead Robb up the steps and further into the keep.

Her mother sighed, looking weary. "War has changed him so much. Still a boy in so many ways, yet a man in even more. He is growing up so fast . . ."

"So am I," said Arya.

Catelyn looked her up and down, then smiled. "You must be a head taller than when I last saw you. You've grown so beautiful. Still wild as a wolf, I imagine, given the sword at your waist."

Arya flushed, then turned her body to the side so part of the sword was covered.

Her mother seemed more amused than angered. "I'm not going to take it away, Arya, so long as you're careful. It is not a plaything."

Arya was suspicious, to say the least. "Why aren't you going to take it?"

"I have seen much since Ned left for King's Landing, and I have heard what you survived until being rescued. If I was to guess, that sword is largely the cause of why you survived in Flea Bottom. Also, Ned sent a raven when he decided you would come to Riverrun, and told me all about your sword and the lessons you were taking. Needle, is it?"

Arya nodded.

Her mother put a hand around her shoulder and led her up the steps. "Come, let's get a proper meal in you, and then you can rest, if you would like."

Her mother's chambers were spacious and shaped like a triangle, with a triangular balcony overlooking the lower bailey. In the courtyard, men trained to the rough shouts of a man with graying hair. "Ser Desmond Grell," her mother had called him.

The meal was simple, salmon roasted in garlic and lemon, turnips dipped in a thick gravy, and a stew made from cabbage, carrots, and onions. For dessert there were four lemon cakes, no doubt because her mother had planned to have Robb and her uncle join them. Arya ate the fish quickly and with her hands, forgetting herself. She apologized and ate her stew much more slowly.

"How does your father fare, Arya? His raven did not mention much."

Arya swallowed and said, "His knee still bothers him from when his horse fell on him, but other than that he is doing well. Oh, well, except for the war. That has caused stress on all, but none more so than Father or Jon."

She did not fail to notice how her mother's smile fell just a little at the mention of Jon.

"Robb has not been doing well, though," she continued. "It only seemed to grow worse when we got here, and I don't know what to make of it. He has been so distant . . . I worry for him."

Her mother frowned. "I'm sure he will be alright. The Starks of Winterfell have endured even the roughest of winters and Robb is nothing if not his father' son, even if he has the Tully coloring."

"I know, I'm just worried. I want to be there with them, fighting, not sitting behind a thick set of castle walls."

"That is the woe of many ladies, but we must endure, and trust that our family will come back to us. If you were there with Robb, then he would be too worried about keeping you safe rather than focusing on the enemy before him."

"Did something happen between the two of you? You both seemed . . . strange, earlier."

"Arya . . . it's complicated-"

"Is it about Jon?"

Her mother tapped a finger on the table, annoyed. "It is between me and your brother."

"So it is about Jon. What happened? Why would you fight over Jon? He's the king."

"Enough, Arya," her mother snapped, coldly. "Let us speak of other things."

Arya knew it then. Her mother had said something hurtful about Jon . . . something bad enough that it had soured Robb's relationship with her. She stood from her chair, abruptly. "I've lost my appetite, Mother." She turned to leave.

"Arya, wait," her mother called, her voice soft and worried.

Arya fled the room, not sure where she was going, but she did not stop until she found a quiet corner in which no one would bother her. She didn't understand what had happened, but she wished Ser Arthur was here. He would have helped her figure out what was going on, and known what to do about it. She was alone here . . . as alone as her brother would be in the westerlands. Arya began to cry, missing home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope that everyone has a great rest of their Sunday. Next chapter will be Tyrion V :)


	24. Ned IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And . . . we're back! Sorry I've been away so long, real life has been hectic. But good news is the next couple chapters are ready, so over the next few weeks there'll be consistent updates. After that, I can't make any promises. I'm now attending college full time and working a part time job, so I haven't had as much time to write. But anyhow, enough of my rambling . . .

Ned did not have the watch, but he was awake all the same. He remembered all too well the dangers of the high road, and that was many years past when Jon Arryn still held the Vale. Now, the men of the mountain clans were raiding more frequently and in larger numbers, according to the villages they passed through. The wildlings only ever posed one true threat throughout his time fostering in Jon Arryn's court.

Jursten Axe-Eater, he called himself. A Painted Dog who thought to name himself the King of the Mountains. The wilding boasted that he earned his name when he bit an axe clean in two that would have taken off his head elsewise. It did not matter if there was any truth to the tale, the wildings believed it, and they began to join with him in large numbers. They raided large villages across the Vale and murdered a cousin to Lord Horton Redfort when he was dispatched to make an end of the wildling. Jursten's band grew and grew, numbering near three hundred when Jon Arryn rode down from the Eyrie with fire and sword.

Ned had been the one to make an end of the self-proclaimed King of the Mountains, as he attempted to rally his men against their charge. Jursten Axe-Eater may have been able to bite an axe clean in two, but the same could not be said of a longsword. The fight lasted but a few seconds. The wildling missed his swing by inches, cleaving through the air in a vicious arc with his axe of heavy black steel. Ned did not. Jursten Axe-Eater lost half his head, and with it so too did the rest of his band lose their courage. Half fled, half threw down their weapons in surrender, but all died. Jon Arryn was not a merciful man when it came to dealing with the savage clansmen.

That night, they feasted at the Bloody Gate. Robert was mournful that he had not been the one to kill Jursten, Ned recalled, but he quickly forgot his troubles in the bosom of a lusty serving wench. His firstborn bastard was sired on that wench, a sweet little girl. Robert visited his daughter daily when she was young, long after he had lost interest with the mother, but he never visited her again after the rebellion. Cersei Lannister might have put a stop to that, or more like Robert just grew bored with the girl as he did most things, excepting wine and war.

_A sound . . . _Distant yet growing louder. Ned rose from his bedroll. The sky was dark grey and cloudless, promising a new day sooner than later. Across the camp Ghost had already risen, the direwolf's hackles rising with him. _Something is wrong._

Ned quietly moved to where his squire, Gendry, lay nearby and shook him awake with a hand at his mouth. Gendry had a habit of shouting when he woke, as if he were in a nightmare. The boy squirmed and tried to shout, but his hand muffled the words. When Gendry calmed, Ned removed his hand and helped him sit up.

"M'lord?" he asked, confused.

"_Be_ _quiet_," Ned whispered. "_Listen._"

The sound of hooves echoed through the mountains. A single horse. No . . . two horses, or mayhap not. The echo made it hard to tell how many there were. A dozen horses could be thundering down the high road at them.

Gendry heard it as well. "Horses?" the boy asked, far too loud.

Ned nodded and put a finger to his lips. "_Wake the others. Quietly. I'll wake the king_."

He did not wait for Gendry's reply. Quick as he dared, Ned moved across the camp. Seven days they traveled along the high road, through dense forests and rocky hills. Once, the road narrowed so much that they had to ride single file for a few miles before it widened again.

An hour past dark, they came upon a stretch protected by natural defenses on both sides and made camp along the road just before it took a sharp bend to the north. To the south the road ended abruptly in a valley twenty feet deep. To the north a rocky incline rose gradually for a way before jutting up into a steep cliff.

His Grace decided that there was no need for sentries in the camp but posted a man on the cliff with a crossbow and a hunting horn. When the watch changed, the man reported that the road went north for a mile before turning back to the east, and the cliff had a good view around the bend. _Why hasn't the guard blown his horn? _It should have been blown at the first sign of riders. Had he fallen asleep? _Or_ . . . had he been killed? Ned shuddered and kept moving.

He moved between and over snoring men as he made his way past. A score of men had joined them from Roose Bolton's camp on the Red Fork. Winterfell men all and loyal to a fault, or so Ned hoped. His trust in men had starved in the black cells as he did.

_If a band of wildings have taken the cliff . . . _Their only option would be to make for the horses and ride back down the mountain. _The guard has just fallen asleep_, Ned assured himself.

Ser Arthur Dayne rose before Ned reached him, as if he had not actually been asleep. The knight's eyebrows quirked in silent question.

"Horses approaching. Wake the king."

"Could it be Greyjoy?"

Ned pondered it for a short moment. It was not impossible, though it was implausible. "Theon was not supposed to return until after first light. Something is amiss."

Arthur nodded solemnly and donned his sword belt.

Satisfied, Ned turned back and helped Gendry wake the rest of the men. Most were bare-chested, and two were naked as their nameday, but they were solemn and steady, waiting for the riders. They would not be long in their waiting. The riders were almost upon them; each hoofbeat was a fresh peal of thunder, drowning out the sound of steel scraping against leather.

Theon Greyjoy rounded the corner, dragging another horse along behind him, and reined up hard at the sight of them.

"Gods be damned, Greyjoy!" one of the naked men shouted. "What were you thinking, galloping in here-"

"Would you pull your bloody head out your arse and look at _him_!" another man shouted over him.

Ned looked, and what he saw shocked him. Theon's horse was lathered and failing. Theon looked almost as bad; white-faced and panting, he slumped forward in his saddle, exhausted. Three arrows bristled from the wood of his oak-and-iron shield and another from the fleshy underside of his calf, painting his breeches a dark red beneath the wound.

Men rushed forward to help, but Theon croaked out, "Him," and pointed to the other horse.

Ned recognized the man atop the horse by his shock of red hair. Ulmer, one of two outriders that served under Theon since the Red Fork. The horse reared and whinnied as they approached, but Arthur did not stop, utterly unafraid of the flailing hooves, and took the horse by the reins and calmed it while Ulmer was carried from his saddle. A fresh stream of blood flowed from Ulmer's throat as they lifted, and Ned now saw that horse's neck was painted in the man's lifeblood.

Theon paled further, if that was even possible, and dropped the other horse's reins, leaning heavily to the left and threatening to topple from his saddle. Ned was the first to him, helping him to the ground while Barristan led the horse away. After a swig of water, Theon coughed violently and in a voice whisper-thin, said, "_Wildings_." Then he shut his eyes and began to snore softly.

Ned could not let him sleep, though, not yet. He grabbed a hold of his shoulders and shook gently until Theon's eyes opened again. "How many Wildlings were there, Theon?"

"_Two score_," he croaked out, then his eyes shot open. "A dozen archers. Maybe more. _Gods_ . . . Gerrol. We just _left _him." Theon's eyes were white with fear. "It was an ambush-" A racking cough doubled Theon over, and blood tinged the spittle a pale pink, but he continued as if nothing had happened. "Lord Stark, you have to get him. _Gerrol _. . . _we_ just left him." Theon began snoring before his eyes had finished closing.

"We will," Ned promised, laying a hand against Theon's forehead. His skin was clammy and feverish, and Ned misliked that cough.

"How is he?" Jon asked from behind him.

"Not well, but we have more pressing issues. Wildings did this. An ambush, Theon says. We need to prepare. They will be here before long."

Jon's footsteps receded as he walked away, but Ned didn't turn back, then he heard him shout, "Get my armor, Elmar! Men! The wildings feel northmen are easy pickings for their raids. What do you think about that?"

The men shouted their anger, and one yelled, "Fuck the wildlings!"

Jon laughed heartily at that, though Ned knew it was feigned, more for the men than aught else. "We are First Men, and the north remembers how to deal with wildlings. So, arm up, and let's send these bastards crying back to their hovels!"

A growl of assent went through the men, followed by a clangor of cloth and leather and steel as the men dressed for battle.

Gendry knelt next to Theon. "Do you need help, m'lord?"

"Grab his other arm. We have to move him." Together, they hoisted Theon between them. He barely stirred. The camp was a flurry of activity. Men sharpened swords and donned boiled leather studded with iron. Near the edge of the rocky incline, Elmar fastened helm to gorget on the king with Barristan standing watch over them, menacing in his white plate and heavy woolen cloak. Elsewhere, Perwyn Frey wore chainmail hauberk over padded doublet, thick woolen breeches, and a steel halfhelm, with sword belted at his waist, yet he was searching for something in his bedroll.

Along the road, a rock stood three-foot-tall, shorn smooth by the wind and rain. Gently, they propped him up against it. Theon stirred only slightly and mumbled something about wildlings before drifting off again. Ned tore a strip of cloth from his cloak and cinched it about the juncture of Theon's knee to staunch the blood flow, then tied another below the arrow.

He rose to his feet. "You will remain here and protect him. Should we break, take Theon and ride hard for the Red Fork. Get a message to Robb. Let him know that we failed."

"But, m'lord," Gendry protested, "my place is by your side."

Ned held up a hand, cutting off any further protest. "Your place is where I tell you to be, and I have commanded you to remain by Theon's side."

_Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhooooooooooooooooooo_

_So, he is awake, _was the first thing that came to mind, queerly enough, and the second was, _They're here_. Before Ned realized he was moving, he was halfway through the camp, striding purposefully to the king, who was shouting commands at the tops of his lungs, forming men into ragged lines.

"LORD STARK!" Jon shouted, struggling to be heard. "You'll have command of the center with the Freys. We're going to hold the valley's mouth." His visor was lifted, and Ned could see the fear in his eyes, no matter how hard he tried to mask it. There was little Jon could hide from him.

Ned nodded gravely. The valley was only large enough for twelve men to stand abreast. It was the only way to counter the wildlings numbers. "Where will you be?"

"I'll hold the left flank with Arthur, Barristan has the right."

_Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhooooooooooooooooooooooo_

Jon slammed his visor shut, drew Longclaw, and moved to join Arthur.

The twelve men had already been chosen and stood at the mouth, ready, waiting for the wildlings with a heavy-oak-and-iron shield on their left arm, and a sword in their right hand. Four northmen watched him approach, their spears sharp and shimmering against the grey morning mists, with Ser Perwyn and Ser Stevron nearby. "SPREAD OUT!" Ned commanded in a voice like iron. "Don't let them overwhelm our shield line! If they break, so will we!"

The wildlings appeared atop a small rise in the high road, like the sun cresting the horizon, running afoot . . . and then they stopped, looking at the line of northmen. It did not appear they expected such heavy resistance waiting for them.

Ned drew his sword and thrust it skyward. "FOR THE NORTH! FOR WINTERFELL! FOR THE KING!"

A ragged cry of "FOR THE KING!" and "FOR THE NORTH!" rang through the predawn gloom.

They drew their weapons in response and filled the air with their own shouts, though their words were swept underfoot and trod on by the northmen's cry, yet not one of them moved.

Shouts slowly fell away on both sides until none remained and all was quiet, yet still the clansmen did not move. A beast of a man, near seven-foot-tall and built like an aurochs, stepped from among the throng of wildlings and shouted at the assembled northmen. Ned paid more mind to the fly buzzing about his head than to the beast's words. Most like, the wildling was shouting of how he was going to murder them all, then rape their wives and enslave their children. Wildlings all wanted the same things. He was the band's leader, Ned surmised, not that it truly mattered.

Then, a quarrel punched through the beast's open mouth as his incessant shouting continued. He staggered and stumbled as if he were drunk. When his mouth opened again, his shout flowed out gushing red and wet, then he fell face-first to the rocks and laid still.

Ned realized the guard who fell asleep on watch was the one to loose the quarrel. _The man's a good shot when he is not sleeping. _If they survived this there would need to be serious consequences for the man. If it had been wildlings and not Theon that came riding down on them, they would have slaughtered their group of half-dressed northmen.

Speaking of, the band of wildlings seemed to have finally found their courage. They were shouting again, and a squirrely looking man was pacing back and forth in front of them, occasionally turning back to point his axe down the road. A loud shout and another axe-pointing, and the squirrely man charged down the road at them. The rest of them took their lead from the man. A quarrel struck the road a hand's space ahead of the lead wildling and stuck into the ground, snapping underfoot a moment later.

"HOLD!" Ned roared.

The wildlings crashed against the shields, but the line held firm. Axes and swords sparked blue as steel tangled over and over in brutal dance. Ned drove his sword over the shield and into the throng. He felt steel rend flesh and heard an anguished scream. He wrenched it free and drove it in again. The steel glanced off a wildling's furs and Ned nearly lost his hold on the hilt. He stepped back, ensuring a good grip on his sword and took a breath, steeling himself.

Further down, a wildling shoved his way past the shields and fell to his knees from the effort. Ser Perwyn slit his throat before he could rise again. A northman drove his spear through the nose of a wildling. The spear caught, but he did not release it quick enough, and was dragged through the shields as the body fell. He cried out for mercy, but when the wildling's steel fell, the cries died along with him.

Ned thrust once more, his steel driving through the side of a wildling throat, though it seemed more of an annoyance than the mortal wound it should have been. The shieldbearer swung his sword at the same man, taking off the wildling's head and finishing what Ned had started. But when he did so his shield dropped several inches.

The axe split leather, flesh, and bone as if it was cloth. His shield dropped for its final time, with the man's left arm still strapped firmly to it. He spun around, his eyes pleading for the death that was all but certain as blood spurted from the ruined stump of his arm. His mouth opened . . . and an arrow sprouted from it.

Ned pushed forward into the gap with Ser Perwyn at his side and forced the wildlings back under a flurry of blows. He scooped up the fallen shield, severed arm still attached, just as two arrows thudded into it. He dropped it again and barely got his sword up in time to parry a blow, then slid it free and drove it down into the wildling's bowels.

More men were falling under the flight of wildling arrows, on both sides, but Ned could not see where they were being shot from. It seemed as if there was no end to the wildlings. Ser Perwyn drove his sword through the belly of a wildling boy no older than ten-and-six, the fear plain in his eyes, while Ned struck the hand off a man whose hair was white with age. The elderly wildling fell to his knees and looked at Ned, his eyes wet with tears, yet no sound was uttered. Ned put an end to his suffering with a sword through the heart and used his foot to push the wilding away.

The crowd ahead of him was thinning and Ned could see the archers clearly now . . . just as a dozen bowstrings tapped against their cheeks. He dove to the ground, his face in the dirt. The familiar _thud _of arrows filled his ears, and not all of them struck wood, then something heavy fell on him, knocking the wind from him. He tasted dirt and rock and blood, but his world had turned to darkness. Ned struggled under the crushing weight, his arms pinned beneath him, fearing the worst. Then the weight was lifted, and a hand grabbed hold of his doublet and dragged him to his feet.

"Fight!" a man was shouting in his face.

For a moment, Ned thought it was his father yelling at him, but no . . . that could not be, his father was _dead_. The Mad King Aerys burned Rickard Stark alive. He shook his head fiercely and wiped dirt from his eyes. The man, whoever he was, was gone. Ned reached for his swordbelt and came up empty. He must have lost his sword when he dove to the ground . . . but where was it?

He did not know how he had gotten so far away. The sounds drew him onward, shuffling and staggering, but the fighting looked like two thick grey lines struggling to engulf each other. His head rang like a bell, and his knee throbbed dully as it always did when Ned spent too much time on it. He rubbed at his eyes again. The dirt he scraped away was red with blood, but Ned could not stop.

Soon, the road grew thick with the dead and dying. A man moaned, "_Lord Stark_," as Ned passed, then slumped back and shut his eyes for the final time. More lay still, unmoving. Some were northmen, more were wildlings. He stopped as he came upon a corpse laid face down on the rocks. The hilt of a sword poked out from beneath the man's gut. Ned grabbed ahold of the man's belt, pulling him to his back, and wrenched the sword free.

_AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHhhhhhhhhhhoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo_

_Gods, there's more of them. _They had to make for the horses and run. There was no other option.

He heard a deep bellow and looked up to see a northman get knocked aside by the sweep of a wildling axe.

"LORD WOLF!" the wildling roared. He was rather large and moved with purpose. "Halfman wants your head, and Orl plans to give him it."

Ned grabbed the sword and yanked it free. He met the first strike while still crouched, but the force of the blow left his arm numb and shaking. The wildling aimed a savage downcut at his head, and it was all Ned could do to fall backwards to avoid it. He swiped at the axe's haft, hoping to break it, but hit only air.

Ned rolled to the side and rose to his feet . . . and got his sword up just in time to block a blow that trapped his sword against the axe's haft. The wildling was not dissuaded. He placed a second hand on the butt of his axe and pushed till it was cutting through studded leather and padded tunic, prickling the skin beneath. Ned used the last of his strength to push the axe back, drop his sword, and step away as the wildling bulled past.

His head pounded like so many horses, but he ignored it as best he could. He stooped to pick up his sword, wincing at the effort . . . and was thrown to the ground.

Next Ned knew, he was on his back, a boot pressed into his stomach, with his sword lying several feet away. He looked up into the wildling's face. It was a savage face, marred by pockmarks and jagged with old scars. There was no sign of mercy in those hard-black eyes. _Orl . . . he said his name is Orl. I will need to remember that. _Ned closed his eyes and prayed for the old gods to protect Jon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed and have a wonderful Sunday! Next chapter will be Tyrion V :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated :)


End file.
